


Dead & Born & Grown

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 12:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 137,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16995168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: April Kepner is a single mother to her only daughter, Alaina, who happens to a handful in herself. What happens when Jackson Avery, Alaina's kindergarten teacher, happens to catch the divorcee's eye?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo DBG is officially back online after a long time being away!! Please enjoy, or re-enjoy, this story!

** APRIL **

The sun hasn’t risen yet as I stand at the oven, making breakfast for my daughter. It’s early September, her first day of kindergarten, and I got up even earlier than usual to make her something good. I have to be at the hospital today at 9am, which gives me just enough time to drop her off at school on my way.

I’ve just put the eggs on the plate as Alaina comes trudging downstairs, her hair a mess and her sapphire blue eyes bleary with sleep. “Hi, honey,” I say, and set the plate down at the table in the breakfast nook.

She hugs me tight around my waist, and I nearly have to pry her off to get her to sit down and eat. “Eat up,” I say. “It’s your first day today! We gotta have our strength.”

Alaina looks up at me with disgust written all over her face. “I don’t like eggs,” she mutters.

“What?” I ask, trying to remain peppy. “Since when?”

“My life,” she says. “Since always and forever.” She pushes her plate away and slumps against the cushioned back of the chair. “Ellie knowed I don’t like eggs. She makes me pancakes.” Alaina crosses her arms and pouts at me. “Where did she go?”

I take the eggs away from her and start eating them myself.

“What am  _I_  gonna eat?” my daughter whines, and then the tears start. “I’m hungry. And you eated my breakfast for school.”

I widen my eyes and raise my fork a little in the air. “You just said you don’t like eggs,” I say.

“I don’t,” she cries.

“Then what’s wrong with me eating them?” I take another bite, then set a bowl in front of her, maybe slamming it down a little. I pour some Lucky Charms and skim milk into it, setting a kid plastic spoon down next to the bowl.

“Where did Ellie go?” she asks again, with fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

I sigh, now feeling guilty for snapping at my little girl. I sit across from her in the breakfast nook and speak in soft, low tones instead of how I’d been addressing her before. “She had to get a new job, Lainey, remember? We talked about it. She’s not gonna be your nanny anymore.”

“She quit for just the summer,” she says.

“No, she spent all summer with you. But she had to quit for the school year, so now you and me are gonna spend a lot more time together.”

She looks down into her cereal and picks out a rainbow-shaped marshmallow. “I want Ellie,” she murmurs, lips pouted out.

“Well,” I say, standing back up. “I can’t help you there. You just got me. Mean old mom.”

Her eyes - her father’s eyes - flash over to me like she’s silently judging the situation. “Ellie lets me have iPad in the morning,” she says.

“New rules now,” I say. “No more iPad during breakfast.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so,” I say.

“When are you leaving to fix people?” she asks, taking a bite of her cereal.

I glance at the clock. “We need to leave in about a half hour. So finish up. We need to get you dressed.”

“I don’t need help,” she says. “Ellie never helped me.”

“Well, today I’m gonna help you. It’s your first day, Laina-Lou, and your clothes need to match.”

I put her in an outfit I bought over the summer that the creases haven’t even fallen out of yet. It’s a navy blue dress with tiny, multicolored polka dots and a string at the collar that I tie into a fancy, loopy bow. Even as she squirms and cries that I’m hurting her head, I use my surgical hands to French braid her sandy blonde hair back into a French braid that’ll stay put throughout the day, no matter how hard she plays at recess. I put her in Velcro shoes - she doesn’t know how to tie yet - and she stomps throughout the house to make them light up as I print out a ‘First Day of Kindergarten’ sign.

“What’s that for?” she asks, peering up at me as I lock the door behind us as we leave.

“Here, hold it,” I say, and then descend a few steps to get a good angle for the picture.

She looks at the paper. “I can’t read,” she says.

“It says ‘first day of kindergarten,’” I tell her.

“Why?”

“Can you just hold it in front of you and smile, please?” I ask.

“Why?”

I lower my phone and give her a straightfaced look. “Alaina,” I say. “We’re going to be late. Please just pose for this picture for Mommy.”

She does as she’s told, squeezing her eyes shut tight in a big smile as she holds the sign in front of her. “Good, thank you,” I say, then take her hand and hurry with her to the car.

I look at my daughter in the rearview mirror, watching her track the world outside as it whizzes by. We live on the border of Wicker Park and Bucktown in Chicago, and she goes to a Montessori school about 2 miles away in Lincoln Park. The ride takes about 15 minutes when there’s no traffic, but it’s rush hour so it’s taking considerably longer this morning.

“When will we be at my school?” she asks.

“Soon,” I say. We’re stopped dead on the Cortlandt Street bridge overlooking the murky water.

“We meeted my teacher,” she says.

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I stare at the multitude of tail-lights ahead of us, showing unblinking red. I have a sinking feeling that we’re both going to be late. “No, we didn’t, sweetheart,” I say. “We were supposed to, remember? But I had to work?”

“Everyone else meeted him but me,” she says. “Or is it a girl teacher?”

“No, you have a boy teacher this year,” I say. “Mr. Avery. That’s a pretty easy name, right?”

She doesn’t respond, all she does is nod and continue to kick her feet against the lower part of the seat. “Lainey, can you stop, please?” I ask, feeling a headache coming on. She kicks one more time for good measure, then changes to hit the armrest with her closed fist. I don’t have the energy to tell her to stop doing that, too.

We pull up to the school with three minutes to spare. I park the car haphazardly and leave it running as I hurry inside with my daughter doing her best to keep up beside me, gripping my hand like I plan on leaving her behind. I find her classroom and walk inside with her, hearing my pager go off in my pocket as I do so.

“Have a great day, okay, sweetie,” I say, kneeling down to her level. “I’ll be back here to pick you up at 3:30.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, tight as vices. “Don’t go, mommy,” she begs.

“Honey, honey. Come on,” I say, trying to pry her willowy arms off. “I have to go. I have to get to work. Hear my pager? I have to get to the hospital. Someone needs me.”

“But I want you to stay here with me,” she says. “I don’t want to play with these kids.”

“Just try,” I say, standing up and giving her a kiss on top of the head. “Make Mommy proud. I can’t wait to hear all about your day.” I stand up to leave, then make brief eye contact with her teacher across the room - at least that’s the role I’m guessing the gorgeous man by the chalkboard is playing. I raise my hand in a curt wave, and he gives me a cordial smile. “I love you, Lainey,” I say. “Can I have a hug kiss?”

She hugs me quickly and slides her lips across my cheek without puckering them at all. “Oh, come on,” I say. “That wasn’t a real kiss.”

“ _Mommy_.”

“Okay, okay.” I kiss her once more. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” She starts to walk away, but I grab onto her backpack. “Hey,” I say sternly. “Listen to me. Be- _have_. I don’t want to get any more calls about you unless it’s good news. We finished with the bad news last year, right?”

She nods and mutters, “Yeah.”

“Good, that’s my baby. Have a good day.”

When I finally leave Alaina’s classroom, I’ve already accepted the fact that I’m going to be late to work. Maybe I made a mistake in letting Ellie go without so much as even a thought of a replacement. Maybe I’m in way over my head, and I have no idea what’s coming.

** JACKSON **

There’s no other feeling like the first day of school. First, you go through it yourself. The nerves, excitement and unsureness of what’s going to happen in the upcoming year. You feel that for twelve years, maybe more if you decide to go to college. Then, once you graduate from whatever your last year is, you think that it’s over. And for most people, it is. But for teachers, we get to experience that first-day feeling every September for the rest of our lives, until our job kills us.

When the first bell rings, the early birds filter down the hallway being led by their parents. The shy ones are easy to spot; when they approach me, I don’t see as much of their face as I see their mother’s leg. I stand outside the classroom, leaned against the doorjamb, my shirtsleeves rolled up to my elbows, smiling and welcoming everyone. Their pictures are up on the wall inside and I do a pretty good job at matching the photos to the real thing, and it always surprises the kids when I know their name before they think I do.

“Good morning, Nicky,” I say to a little boy with thick-framed black glasses and a mop of orange hair. He wraps both arms around his mom’s thigh and she rests her hand on top of his head.

“Can you say hi to your teacher, Nicky?” she asks, then looks at me apologetically. “He’s shy. I’ll just go in with him and get him settled, and…”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, ushering them both inside. “Nicky, you can find the spot at the yellow table with your nametag on it. Hopefully the color suits your fancy.”

He still won’t look at me, but his eyes light up at the mention of colors.

A gaggle of girls comes next, being led by a mixture of just moms, just dads, and both together. “I have two daddies,” a little brunette says to me, her hands clasped behind her back.

“I know it, Julia,” I say. “I met them at the open house. Do you remember me?” I crouch down to her level, and three other girls line up behind her. “I’m Mr. Avery.”

“I know,” she says. “You’re my teacher.”

“My mom said! My mom said,” someone pipes up, looking over Julia’s shoulder. “My mom said…”

“What’d your mom say, Emily?” I ask, crossing my arms on my knees and raising my eyebrows.

She gets bashful when all the attention shifts to her. “She said that you have pretty eyes, Mr. Avery.”

I bat my eyelashes animatedly at her. “Well, that’s high praise. Seeing as I stole them. I’m glad I picked good ones.”

“You stole them?” a little boy named Skyler asks. “Are they glass eyes?”

I pretend to remove one eye, squint like it’s out of the socket, and mime putting it in my mouth before chewing heartily and popping it back in. I get a chorus of  _ew, gross_! and a lot of little giggles. “Okay, okay, everybody in,” I say. “Find the spot at a table with your nametag, and no trading.”

After the hallway clears out and everyone finds their way to a classroom, I make my way inside, too. I stand at the front of the chalkboard and write out the schedule for the day, along with my name in big print letters that most of them can’t read. I scan the tables, seeing only a few parents left over, and pause at the single chair left empty. I look at the nametag, Alaina Kepner, and search for her face on the picture board. It’s the only construction paper star that’s left empty. I wonder if her family moved or if something else happened, if I should expect her to show up today or not.

There are two minutes left before school starts when a petite woman and an even more petite little girl come in, hand-in-hand. The woman’s hair is unapologetically red with shiny copper throughout, and who I’m assuming is Alaina’s hair is lighter, closer to blonde with a hint of her mother’s color underneath. I debate walking over to them, but I get distracted with a spill of colored pencils that happens right in front of me. By the time I stand up, the woman is smiling politely at me and giving me a short wave before disappearing from the classroom. Alaina had started to walk towards the tables, but once she realizes that her mother is really gone, she turns back around and stands in the open doorway to watch her leave.

As I walk closer, I hear her saying, “Mama,” down the hallway, but she’s already gone.

“Hey, Alaina,” I say, crouching down. “I’m Mr. Avery.”

She turns around to look at me with huge, dark blue eyes. I can’t read the expression on her face; sometimes kids’ emotions can be a thousand times more complicated than adults’.

“How are you this morning?” I ask.

Still, she says nothing.

“I know the first day can be pretty hectic and scary,” I say. “But how about we find your hook, get this backpack off you, and then see where you’re gonna be sitting? Wanna do that?”

She doesn’t disagree, so I walk with her over to the wall of hooks and hang her backpack on the one with her name above it. “You’re between Shelby and Sarah,” I say. “I heard they’re really nice.”

“Is my mom still out there?” she asks, ignoring what I’ve said. “I think… I think she forgotted to pack me my lunch.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” I say. “We have hot lunch here, and we’ll all learn how to use it today. And guess what? It’s even free! You don’t have to pay anything.”

She pulls at her skirt uncomfortably and then touches the bow tied at her collar. “My mom tied this,” she says.

“Oh, really?” I ask.

“I don’t like this dress,” she says. “Mommy picked it out. I didn’t have Ellie. Ellie lets me pick.”

“Well, sometimes moms are like that,” I say. “I know mine is.”

She looks at me with her light eyebrows raised. “ _Your_  mom?” she asks. “But you’re a grown-up.”

“Yeah, and my mom still’s the boss of me,” I say, standing up. “No matter how old you get, that’s how it is. Moms can always tell you what to do, and you always gotta listen.”

She follows me through the maze of chairs until we find hers, between Shelby and Sarah at the blue table. “Shelby, Sarah, this is Alaina. We’re gonna have this seating arrangement until Thanksgiving break, so I think you three are gonna get to know each other pretty well. Wanna say hi?”

“Hi,” Shelby says, roughly depositing an unsharpened, glittery purple pencil in front of Alaina. “Here. My mom got these from Walgreen’s yesterday. I have four more.”

“Can I have it?” Sarah asks, but Alaina grips it tight in her fists.

“She gave it to me,” she murmurs.

“How about we all keep our own things?” I say, and take the pencil from Alaina to give back to Shelby. “Unless you have enough for everyone, we’ll keep our stuff to ourselves, okay?”

“She has hair like my mom,” Alaina says, pointing at Shelby without looking at her. “Except longer. And not the same color as my mom.”

“Okay,” I say, standing up to walk to the front of the classroom. I look out at all the little faces watching me and can’t help but smile at the different personalities that I’ll get to know this year. “Welcome to kindergarten, Room 105. I’m Mr. Avery, and I’m gonna be your teacher this year.”

***

The day goes by quickly, as most first days do. It’s full of tears, shyness, and getting used to the new schedule being thrust upon them. They’re used to preschool, where everything goes by the wind and who has to go potty, so kindergarten is a bit of a change-up. And for some, it can be a shock to the system. I can always tell whose parents have them on a regimen and whose don’t by the end of the first day, and this year is no different. It’s about half and half. I have a lot of easy kids and a handful of difficult ones, and the most difficult one is still standing next to me after the last bell as rung at 3:30.

“Do you see your mom anywhere?” I ask Alaina Kepner, watching more and more parents leave the asphalt where pickup happens.

“No,” she says simply.

“Did she say she was picking you up today?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” I purse my lips and cross my arms. “Well, we’ll just wait out here and give her a few more minutes. It’s a nice day, right?”

“Can I play on the playground?” she asks.

I turn my head to see that it’s crawling with kids, and it would be just my luck to lose her among them. “No, I don’t think so,” I say. “Stay here by me. Just in case Mom comes.”

Alaina sits down on the top step but gets up after a few seconds. She hangs off the metal railing going down the stairs and slides down it, landing on her butt at the very bottom.

“Alaina, I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” I say. “How about let’s get off the railing.”

“I don’t want to,” she says. “You’re not the boss of me.”

I take in a deep breath. “We’re at school and your mom’s not here. I still am your boss, actually.”

“I like sliding down the railing.”

“I get that,” I say. “But I asked you to stop. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt.”

“You just fell. Alaina, off the railing. Now, please. Otherwise we’re going back inside.”

“Then Mommy can’t see us,” she says.

“Exactly, that’s why-”

“Jackson?”

I turn around and see that the office secretary is standing there, halfway out the doors. “Yeah?” I say.

“You have a call. A woman named April Kepner, about her daughter,” she says.

“Oh, shoot. Yeah.” I turn around. “Alaina, come with me. Your mom’s on the phone.” She scrambles off the railing and trots next to me down the long hallway that leads to the office, her backpack smacking her back with every other step.

“Can I talk to her?” she asks, once we step into the office.

I ignore her and say, “Hi, Jackson Avery here.”

“Hi, Mr. Avery,” the woman says. “My name is April Kepner; my daughter, Alaina, she’s in your class?”

“Yep, I’m aware. I’m lookin’ at her right now.”

“Oh, god,” she says. “I am so sorry. I’m at the hospital right now and time got away from me, we just lost our nanny and I’m getting used to this new schedule. I promise I won’t be long. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

I crease my forehead. “If you’re at the hospital, take your time,” I say. “Please. I’ll stay here with her, unless there’s someone I can call? Her dad, maybe?”

“No,” she says quickly. “I’ll be there. I won’t be more than an hour. I just have to get this done. Thank you so much, thank you again.”

She hangs up the phone before I can get a word in edgewise, and Alaina is looking up at me with curious eyes. “What’d she say?” she asks.

“Uh, she’s held up right now,” I say, not wanting to scare her with talk of the hospital. Maybe it’s just a routine procedure that went long, and that’s all. She wouldn’t be able to call if it were serious, right? She wouldn’t leave me here with her kid if it were something serious.

“What’s she doing?”

“Um, I’m not really sure,” I say. “But how about me and you go back to the classroom and work on some art? That’ll pass the time until Mom gets here, right?”

Alaina agrees halfheartedly and we make our way back to the classroom, where I flick the lights on and sit down at a tiny table in the art corner with her. I give her a sheet of blank white paper and a bucketful of crayons, and look at her with my chin rested in my open palm. “How about you draw your family?” I ask.

She looks at me challengingly. “You draw yours,” she says.

“No problem,” I say, and grab another sheet of paper for myself. “Don’t look ‘til I’m done.”

I work on drawing myself and my mom, that’s it. It doesn’t take me long, but I add plenty of details so Alaina can have as much time to work as she needs. I draw clothes for the stick figures; a dress for my mom and a tie for me, and add some scenery for us, too. I smile and tell myself that I definitely have to take a picture of this to send to my mom once I’m done here, because she’ll get a kick out of it.

I hear some violent scribbling happening to my right, so I glance over to see what’s going on. I see that Alaina has drawn herself and what must be her mother, April, with fire-engine red hair. Next to April is another female figure, and then a huge blob of black that’s so dark that there are crayon shavings littering the paper around it from how hard she’s pressing.

“Hey, hey, hey, I think you got it,” I say. “Any harder and you’ll go through to the table. What’s going on there with that part you scratched out?”

She grips the black crayon tight in her little first, then bangs it down hard on the table until it cracks over the place she’d been scribbling. “That’s - my - dad,” she says, still slamming the table. After she says the last word, she sets the crayon down in the mess, then points with her finger to the female next to him. “That’s Ellie, even though she quitted. That’s my mom. Her hair is red. And me.”

“I like it,” I say. “Can I ask why your dad got scribble-scrabbled out like that?”

She picks up both halves of the black crayon and does more violent scribbling, so much so that it gets on other parts of her drawing, too. “He left,” she grunts. “I remember everything, even back to when I was one years old. My mom said I have a elephant memory.”

“That’s a really cool skill,” I say. “Let’s throw this crayon out, though. It’s broken, anyway.”

“I wanted to scribble more,” she insists, as the crayon plops in the trash can.

“I think you got enough scribbles,” I say.

“I need to make him more invisible,” she says, and picks a new color, dark indigo, and starts coloring more over the spot that had been her dad.

Yikes.

I don’t know what’s going on there, but it doesn’t seem healthy. The teacher part of me gets worried, starts thinking of the questions I should be asking, but the 32-year-old male in me wants to back as far away as I can from this and leave it alone. I know I shouldn’t, though. If she’s five and has this much anger, it has to be stemming from somewhere.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened with your dad?” I ask.

“Gone,” she says, staring down at the paper.

“Then why’d you draw him at all?” I say gently.

“He wasn’t gone all the time,” she says. “He used to be here. Then he went away.”

“Where’d he go?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.” There’s a long pause, and she stops coloring and abandons her paper to go sit down on a beanbag. “When’s Mommy getting here? When Daddy left, it made her cry. A lot.” She kicks the beanbag with her heel. “Sometimes I make Mommy cry.”

Jesus Christ. I don’t react outwardly because I know better, but I had no idea I’d be signing up for a therapy session with one of my kindergarteners today.

“I’m sure you don’t mean to,” I say.

“Daddy did.”

I take a big breath in. “Did your daddy ever… hit your mommy?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “No.”

“Did he ever hit you, or touch you where you didn’t want him to?”

Now, I’m even crazier. “No…”

“Okay, I just have to know those things,” I say, feeling relieved. So her dad walked out them, not anything more traumatizing than that. No domestic violence or any kind of abuse, just a shitty guy. Sounds just like my dad, so I can relate. I wonder if I was as much of a heavy-hitter as this kid is back when I was in kindergarten. “I like your drawing, other than that, though,” I say. “You’re really good at your mom’s hair.”

“It’s really red,” she says, then gets up from the beanbag. “I’m hungry.”

We eat apples and peanut butter on the art table, and I read a few books to her before she starts yawning and rubbing her eyes. I read slower and softer until she falls asleep on the beanbag, then clean up the mess we’ve made while glancing at the clock every five seconds. It’s been almost two-and-a-half hours since April called, and I’m about to call her back and see what’s going on before I hear a voice blustering in the door from behind me.

“God, I am so sorry. I am so, so, so sorry. I didn’t know how late I was gonna be, I didn’t forget her, I swear…” I turn around and see April there, looking confused. “Where’s Alaina?”

I nod in the direction of the beanbag in the art corner. “Sleepin’,” I say.

“Oh, god,” she says, and hurries over there.

“Hey, hey, wait,” I say. “You don’t have to wake her up yet. I wanted to talk to you, and… sleeping doesn’t seem like something she does very often at home. Am I right?”

She laughs a bit self-consciously, and runs her hand through her messy hair. “Yeah,” she admits.

After watching her hand, I see a splotch of something red on her neck. “Um… I think you’re bleeding,” I say, pointing at the spot.

Her hand flies to her collar, then she scratches the dried blood off with her fingertips. “Not mine,” she says. “We had a bad bleeder earlier, I guess I missed a spot.” I narrow my eyes and shake my head a little bit, totally confused. “I work at Rush Children’s Hospital, on Congress.”

“Oh,” I say. “I didn’t know you were a doctor.”

“I’m a surgeon, actually,” she says. “An attending there. That’s why I have these crazy hours, and you know… I thought I could do it without our nanny. But now, I’m not so sure.” She rubs her temples and sits on a low tabletop with her elbows on her knees. “This is just the first day and I’m already messing up big. Leaving my kid at school with the teacher for hours. I know that’s not okay. I’m so sorry this happened. I’ll… I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Really.” She massages her temples and closes her eyes, and I can hear her stomach growl from halfway across the room. “Are you hungry?” I ask. “I have… snacks.”

I open the snack cupboard to showcase the rows and columns of packaged little-kid snacks. “Uh, sure,” she says with a smile.

“Teddy Grahams or Goldfish?” I ask.

“A hard decision,” she says. “I’ll go with Teddy Grahams. We have way too many Goldfish at home.”

“Knew it,” I say. “I pegged you for a Teddy Grahams lover.”

I toss her a bag and sit across from her at the tiny table she’s sitting at. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay this morning,” she says. “It was horrible of me. God, I’ve been the worst mother lately. I…” she sighs loudly and opens the plastic bag. “I feel like I have no time for her. And she knows it.”

“She knows you love her,” I say. “And it’s no big deal that you couldn’t stay today.”

“It was kind of a big deal, though,” I say. “I didn’t bring her to open house, I didn’t stay and meet you this morning, you probably think I don’t care at all.”

“I don’t think that.”

“I’m not some hotshot doctor who thinks they walk on water. I don’t have some God complex or anything like that,” I say. “I swear.”

I chuckle. “I don’t think that,” I say again.

“Okay, good,” she says, and pauses. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. You’re just a busy mom, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Feels like a lot more than that, though.”

We eat in silence for a while, until I clear my throat to speak again. “Um, I wanted to ask you about something else, too,” I say.

She looks up at me, her hazel eyes wide with alarm. “I - um,” she stammers. “I’m sorry, I’m just… I’m not really looking to date right now?” She bites the inside of her top lip. “And you’re Alaina’s teacher, I just don’t think-”

“Not where I was going with that,” I say, holding back my laughter and pressing my lips together. “Um, but good to know.”

Her face drops, mouth hanging open with her eyes wide. “Wait… oh, my god,” she says, and buries her face in her hands. “I’m mortified. Please, please forget that I just said that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t know why I assumed - I’ve just been so all over the place lately, I don’t know up from down, I just… I don’t know, just… can we rewind, please?”

I keep my eyes on her with a grin on my lips. “I wanted to talk to you about something Alaina said,” I say. “Actually, more like something she did.” I walk carefully over to the art table and pick the drawing up, then bring it back over to where April and I are sitting. I set it down and slide it to her.

“Oh,” she says. “Her dad.”

“You know about this?” I ask.

She nods and folds the paper in half. “She draws this a lot. This isn’t the first time.”

“Oh,” I say. “I just wanted to let you know. It seems… it seems like it’s something that’s really bothering her.”

“Of course it’s bothering her,” April says, her tone sharpening. “It’s bothering me. If it’s bothering me, it’s bothering her. That’s how things work.”

“I - okay. I know.”

“Do you?” she asks, and I raise my eyebrows and pull my head back. “With all due respect, Mr. Avery, you think you know a lot more about my daughter than you really do.”

“No, that’s not it at all,” I say, backtracking. “I was just trying to help.”

“Of course,” she says, then pauses. “Are you married? Have kids?”

I fold my hands together in front of me. “No,” I say. “No.”

“Then I’m not sure how much room you have to talk here,” she says. “Or to give me advice on how to parent my daughter.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do at all,” he says. “I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

She’s silent for a long time, staring down at the plastic wood of the table while chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’m doing the best I can,” she says softly. “It may not come across that way to you, but I am. This is my best right now. And I know it’s not enough for her. I know that.”

I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want it to be the wrong thing.

“I run an after-school program,” I say. “Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. From right after school all the way until 7, and it’s free. Alaina should come. I think she’d like it. It’d definitely help with all that energy she has, and it’d take the weight off your shoulders for those days.”

April’s eyebrows furrow. “You run it?” she asks.

I nod. “Mm-hmm.”

“That would help me a lot,” she says. “I can get off at 7. That would make it a lot easier to get off at 3:30 on the other days.”

“It’s there if you want it,” I say. “If you don’t, then don’t. But I’m just trying to give you some options here.”

“Thank you,” she says. “I’m sure it’d help her make friends. She was never too good at that in preschool. I think she got that from me.”

“Got what from you?”

“People tend to find me annoying,” she says. “I just want a better social life for her. She deserves that. She’s had it pretty hard at home for the last couple years, and… I want this year to be good for her.” April glances over at her sleeping daughter and then stands up from the little chair she’s been sitting in. “Honeybee,” she says softly, kneeling down by Alaina. “Time to go.”

The little girl stirs and flips over on her back, rubbing her eyes as she looks up at her mother. “Mommy?” she says blearily.

“Hi, gorgeous,” April says, and lifts Alaina into her arms and holds her on her chest. Even though Alaina is tiny, seeing her figure draped over her mother dwarfs April considerably.

“I’m tired,” Alaina murmurs, absentmindedly running April’s hair through her fingers.

“I know,” she says. “You were so asleep. I’m sorry I was late, little one. We’ll get you home, get you some dinner, and then right to bed. Maybe you can even sleep in my bed tonight. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” she says.

“Thanks for everything,” April says to me. “I’ll look into the after-school program. And about earlier…” She glances to the folded picture still left on the table. “I’m sorry for getting short with you. She’s just-”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “You’re her mom, you know what to do. We can just leave it at that.”

“Okay,” she says. “Thanks again.” She turns around and whispers in Alaina’s ear, “Say bye to your teacher.”

“Bye, Mr. Avery,” Alaina murmurs, waving one hand at me lazily over her mother’s shoulder. I return the sentiment, watch them leave, and then lock up my classroom behind me as I head home, too.

As I sit in the driver’s seat with the radio on, I let out a big gust of air. This year, for the first time, I think I’m in way over my head.      

 


	2. Chapter 2

** APRIL **

“Mommy…”

I tie my mask around the back of my head and frown at Owen Hunt, who stands to my right as we scrub in for an emergency bowel resection. I screw up my face and raise my lip at him, wondering why he could possibly be calling me mommy.

“Excuse me?” I ask, securing the knot.

“Mommy…  _Mommy_!”

My eyes fly open and I realize that the voice isn’t coming from my dream at all, but instead cutting through the dark silence that’s settled over my house in the middle of the night. As I throw the thick covers off, I glance at the clock and see that it’s just past 4am - nowhere near time to get up yet. I shuffle to Alaina’s room and push open her door, peeking my head in and squinting in her direction. “Baby?” I whisper. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t respond. I hear her tossing and turning, though, which is a dead giveaway that she’s having a nightmare, still asleep. I walk fully inside and kneel at her bedside, laying my hands on her shoulder and belly gently so I don’t scare her. She’s sweating, and from the streetlight gleaming in from the window, I can see that her eyebrows are drastically raised, her teeth are bared, and her hair is plastered to her sticky forehead.

“Honey,” I say gently. “Wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

She breathes heavily, her little belly pushing out and then drawing back in dramatically as her nightgown is wrapped up around her chest. I stroke her sweaty hair away from her eyes and feel my own expression turn pensive and worried. I hate that my five-year-old is experiencing this. “Alaina,” I say, a little louder. “Laina Faith, wake up, sweetheart. It’s Mommy. Wake up.”

Her eyes shoot open as she inhales sharply, clutching my shoulders with clawlike fingers. When she meets my eyes, she starts sobbing. “Mommy, why did you go away?” she cries, and clings to my chest, forcefully pulling me as close as she can.

“I’m right here, I’m here,” I say, trying to be as soothing as I can.

“Where did you go?” she asks, her wet face pressed against my neck.

“Nowhere,” I say. “I promise, I was here the whole time.”

“But you weren’t,” she insists, and I climb into bed with her and try to work my way around the tangled covers. “You and Daddy walked to a big cliff and you wouldn’t look back at me,” she says. “I was saying your name again and again and again and you wouldn’t even look back at me!”

“Shh,” I say, petting her curly hair. “I’m not ever gonna leave you, I promise.”

“Daddy left,” she says. “He left when he even said he wasn’t going to. He lied.”

“Well, I would never lie to you,” I say, and she wraps one arm tight around my ribcage. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever. I’m gonna be here to keep you safe for your whole life.”

“I never want to see my daddy again,” she cries. “He was gonna take you. He was gonna pull you over the mountain with him.” She starts crying again, fingertips digging into my back sharply. “Don’t go, mommy,” she whimpers. “Please don’t go.”

I fixate on a wallpaper flower on the wall next to her bed. “I won’t,” I say softly. “I’m gonna stay right here with you.”

In the morning, we both wake up around the same time, sweaty and uncomfortable. Alaina’s bed is small and covered with stuffed animals, and she likes to stretch out over the entire thing. When I open my eyes, I have an arm strewn over my face and a knee on my stomach as she lays on her belly, yawning.

By how bright it is in the room, I can already tell we’re late. It’s the second week of school, and we’re already doing this, and that means I’ll be late for rounds, too.

“Come on, we gotta get up,” I say, swinging my legs off the bed to hit the carpet.

“Don’t wanna,” she pouts, turning her face the other way.

“Got to,” I say, patting her back. “We’re already late.” I glance at the clock on her dresser. 9:48. “Very late. Come on, Laina-Lou, we have to hurry. I’m gonna go get in the shower, and I want you dressed by the time I come out.”

“Can I pick my own clothes?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say. “Just hurry.”

I shower as fast as I can and come back out in a towel to check on my daughter. She’s thrown seemingly every article of clothing she owns onto the floor of her room, and is sitting on her bed in just her underwear.

“What are you doing?” I exclaim, eyebrows raised as I hold my white towel together. “What is all this? I asked you to get dressed!”

“I like your hat,” she says, pointing to the towel turban covering my hair.

“Alaina, I…” I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s 10am now, and I have surgery at 11:30 - a kidney transplant for a kid who’s been on the donor list half her life. I can’t deal with my own child right now, not when she’s being like this. I feel my face heat up with aggravation and I clench my free fist before fanning my fingers back out again, taking deep breaths as I go. “I asked you to get dressed.”

“I couldn’t find anything,” she says.

My eyes scan over the million outfits crumpled around our feet. I kneel down while keeping myself decent and pick up a pair of polka-dotted leggings and a shirt with a heart on it and toss them on the bed next to her.

“I don’t want that!” she whines. “It doesn’t match.”

I sigh exasperatedly and pick out a different shirt, one with dots on it. “Here,” I say. “Put it on, say your prayers, and come to the kitchen. Quick breakfast, then we have to go.”

I retreat into my own room and speed through my routine; swiping a brush through my hair without bothering to blow-dry it and putting on random clothes because I’ll just change into my scrubs once I get to the hospital. “Are you getting dressed?” I call, my eyes lifting as I wait for her response.

“I already did,” Alaina calls back.

“Thank you,” I say, and zip up my jeans. After hearing a considerably loud bang, I trot down the stairs to find my daughter sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal in front of her and a gallon of milk slowly spilling out onto the hardwood floor.

We make eye contact, and her mouth turns down into a frown as she starts to cry.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I say, but I know she can tell by my tone that I’m irritated. I set the wet plastic bottle back up on the table and say, “Try again,” as I clean up the widespread mess that she’s created. By the time it’s up off the floor, the knees of my pants are wet and I have five soaking wet dish towels that I can’t do anything with, except throw them into the sink to deal with later.

“I didn’t mean to spill,” she says, still sniffling as she eats her cereal slowly.

“I need you to eat faster, honey,” I say, packing her backpack.

“Can you check what lunch is today?” she asks. “Yesterday it was a-scusting. And I didn’t even eat it.”

“I’m sorry it was gross, but I don’t have time to pack you a cold lunch today,” I say.

“Will you look what it is?” she asks.

“I don’t know how,” I say, shoving a pair of tennis shoes into her bag for gym. “Your tennies are in here. Don’t forget them.”

“Everybody else’s mommy knows how to check what’s for lunch!” she insists, slamming her spoon down and making milk droplets sprinkle the table.

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t be like everyone else’s mommy,” I say. “We’re going to be very late. I have people counting on me to fix them up today, and you know that’s something I can’t be late for.”

“I don’t care that you fix people,” she says. “Other people’s mommies don’t fix people and they make lunch every day. You don’t.”

I pinch my lips and feel like I’ve been socked in the gut, though I try to ignore it. “I know,” I say. “But I do very important work. Other mommies have a lot more time than I do.”

She plunks her cheek to rest on her closed fist and swirls around her cereal, and it takes twenty more minutes before I get us both out the door.

As I speed through traffic on Ashland to get her to school, I look in the rearview mirror and say, “You’re gonna go to Right At School today,” I say. “Remember, like I told you? Every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday you’ll get to hang out with Mr. Avery and do fun stuff after school ends. And I’ll be there to pick you up around dinnertime.”

“I don’t wanna go,” she says, staring out the window.

“I’m sorry, but you have to,” I say, rubbing my thumbs on the steering wheel. “I promise it’ll be fun.”

“No, it won’t,” she says.

I sigh and stop at a red light. “Well, you can try and make it fun. I know you, and you make everything fun.”

“No, I don’t.”

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. “Hopefully you’ll get used to it, then. Being a grumpus won’t help you, though, I can promise you that.” She doesn’t respond. “I’m telling you this so you know where to go after school is done. Mr. Avery will tell you, obviously, but I just want you to know that I won’t be there to pick you up.”

“Where will you be?” she asks.

“Work, sweetie,” I respond.

“You’re always at work,” she says, as I pull up to the school. I park on the curb with my hazard lights on to show that I won’t be there for long, hurriedly help Alaina out of the car, then rush her up the stairs. “You’re hurting me!” she shrieks, ripping her hand out of my grasp.

I look down at her and say nothing, and her sapphire eyes are hooded and fiery. I know I wasn’t hurting her, and she knows that, too.

I sign her in late with the office and walk her to her classroom, leading the way as she trails behind. “Hurry up, please,” I say over my shoulder, but of course, she doesn’t. I make it to the door and wait for her, then look through the window until I catch Mr. Avery’s eye.

There’s no one else in the room; he was just sitting at his desk. When he sees me, he gets up and walks to the door to open it for us. “Well, hello,” he says. “Hi, Alaina.”

“Sorry we’re late today,” I say, then turn to my daughter. “Come inside.”

“Everyone else is out at recess,” he tells her. “How about you hang up your bag and go join them? Julia was asking about you this morning.”

For him, she smiles and skips inside, hangs up her backpack, and disappears out the back door that leads to the playground. Once she’s gone, I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Hard morning?” he asks.

I meet his eyes. The other day, I had thought they were green, but now they look more periwinkle against his light blue shirt. They’re absolutely magnetic. “You have no idea,” I say.

He glances out the window where Alaina is easily discernible on the playground, running around the basketball pole as a boy with spiky hair and a girl with one tiny braid chase her. “She’s made a few friends so far,” he says. “She’s doing well.”

“Well, I’m glad she’s doing well here,” I say. “I wish I could say the same for at home.”

“Anything I can help with?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, I… she’s going through a hard stage right now,” I say. “I’m just glad she’s happy here. She’s coming to after-school today.”

“Yep, that’s right,” he says. “We’ll have a lot of fun. I’ll get all her energy out, I promise.”

I laugh halfheartedly. “I appreciate it.” I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and look at the clock; it’s past 11 now. “I have to go, I’m sorry. Thank you for understanding. The lateness… it won’t happen again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a smile. “I understand. It happens. She didn’t miss much this morning; we didn’t learn anything she doesn’t already know.”

I give him a watery smile and start heading in the direction of the door. “Okay,” I say. “Thanks again. I’ll be back tonight, before 7.”

I get in the car and sit there with my blinking lights on for longer than I should. I stare ahead at the trees lining the street and hanging over it like a hood, then feel tears prick the backs of my eyes. I shake my head roughly to make them go away and pound the steering wheel with my closed fist.

Why can’t Alaina just be easy?

She used to be, that’s the problem. She used to wake up in the morning with pep in her step and a smile on her pretty little face. But now, she wakes up morose and complaining, right off the bat. When she used to ask ‘why’ about everything, it wasn’t for vindictive reasons or to get her way, it was because she was genuinely curious. She never used to be obstinate just for the sake of it like she is now.

Matthew’s leaving turned his daughter into someone I don’t recognize. And I hate him for it.

I know that Alaina shouldn’t be the one I get frustrated with, but that’s easier said than done when the effects of what happened showcase themselves in her. Matthew did this to us; I’m aware of that. There’s no one I have more contempt for than him. And the reason I get so upset with Alaina is because sometimes, the looks she gives me - like the one on the steps just a few moments ago - remind me just of her father.

I start the car and drive towards the hospital, wiping my tears away as I go. When I park, my cheeks are dry but my heart is heavy as I rush inside to scrub in immediately.

My good friend, Arizona, is already scrubbing as I bluster in the door. “I know I’m late, I know,” I say, turning the sink on. “I’ve already prepped her case, though, last night.” I glance in the wide windows and see a little girl lying on the OR table, passed out from anesthesia. She has a mop of curly blonde hair on her head that reminds me of someone very special to me, and my heart pangs because of it.

“Oh…” I say to myself. Arizona doesn’t notice.

“It’s fine,” she says, looking over at me. I can tell she’s smiling, even though she’s wearing a mask. It shows in her eyes. “I figured it must have been something important.”

“Not really,” I say, scrubbing my wrists. “Me and Alaina slept too long, and she was…” I shake my head and exhale loudly, puffing out my cheeks.

“Yeah, how’s she been lately?” Arizona asks. “She started school last week, right? Haven’t heard much from you about it.”

“She’s fine,” I say, staring down at the chrome sink. “Well, I mean, fine as in she’s surviving. She’s just…” I sigh. Arizona knows everything that happened with Matthew, but I know that now’s not the right time to be getting into it. “Everything with her dad is just getting harder for her. I thought it would get easier, but it hasn’t. Sometimes she can be so…  _nasty_.”

Arizona shakes her head. “Sometimes kids can be worse than adults,” she says. “No filter. You always know exactly what they’re thinking.”

“I know,” I say. “Sometimes I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Arizona assures me. “I’ve seen you two together. She’s in love with you. You’re super-mom.”

I laugh, eyebrows raised with surprise. “Far from it,” I say. “I’ve been a mess without the nanny.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Arizona says. “It’s only been a week. Things take time.”

“Yeah, time,” I say. “How long’s it gonna take? I’m not talking about the school transition. Matthew walked out what, almost a year and a half ago now?” I sigh. “The therapist said she’d start getting better, and I’m worried she won’t. I’m worried she’s gonna be one of those women with daddy issues who date all these shitheads-”

“She’s not gonna be like that,” Arizona says. “How long did you send her to that therapist for?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Six months? She stopped talking to him. She’ll hardly talk to men. The only man who she seems to like is her teacher.”

“Well, that’s good, at least,” she says. “At least you can feel good about sending her to school.”

“Right,” I say, arms lifted with my hands by my face as I bump the door aside and make my way inside the OR. “Sometimes, it feels like she likes him better than she likes me.”

“Maybe she’s going through her teenage phase early,” she laughs.

She’s smiling, but I don’t find it amusing because I know it’s not as simple as that. “Yeah,” I say, looking down at our patient and attempting to switch gears. This little girl looks much younger than her eight years with the tube inserted in her mouth and her eyelids taped gently shut. I smile softly down at her and wish I could stroke her hair, touch her arm, show some comforting gesture to let her know that she’s in good hands, though I know I can’t. I’m scrubbed in.

“Ten blade,” I say under my breath, and the scrub nurse hands me one. I glance at the little girl’s face and feel a pang of guilt that I have more of an urge to comfort her than I did my own daughter this morning.

 

***

When I get off work, I’m weary and spent, but I have it in my mind that I’m going to make up this morning to Alaina. I pull up to the school in the same spot I was in this morning and walk through the front doors to find my way to the gym. When I get there, there’s a man with a blue polo standing at the entrance with a clipboard in his hands, assumably waiting for parents.

“Who are you here for?” he asks.

“Alaina Kepner,” I say, and he hands me the clipboard and shows me where to sign.

“I’ll grab her,” he says, but I stop him.

“Hold on a sec,” I say. “I just wanna watch for a minute.”

Mr. Avery is playing basketball against seven other kids, and he has the ball. He uses fancy footwork and dribbles around them, which makes them smile and shriek with laughter; Alaina included. Her hair has worked its way mostly out of its ponytail and she looks like she’s been playing hard, which I love. She’s chasing after him with visible perseverance, and he’s running at half-speed until he lets her steal the ball from him.

“Agh, you got it!” he exclaims, shaking his fist. Alaina runs in the opposite direction, holding the ball close without dribbling, screaming as she goes. “Hey, traveling!” he shouts after her. 

As she runs, she finally sees me and drops the ball so it goes bouncing away. “Mommy!” she squeals, and runs at me with full force. I kneel down and she collides with my chest, and I spend a minute with my face pressed to her sweaty head, just holding her. “It’s still light outside,” she says. “You got done at work early?”

“Mm-hmm,” I say. “And I want to take someone special out for pizza tonight. How does Homeslice sound?”

“Yay!” she cheers. “Let’s go, let’s go!” She leads me out of the gym by the hand, but before we’re fully gone I make sure to throw a smile and a wave over my shoulder at Mr. Avery.

As I sit across from my daughter in the pizza place, she looks around with lit-up eyes as she bounces in the booth. “Did you have a good day at school today?” I ask.

She pushes her hair out of her face with both hands and smacks her lips together. “Yeah. Can I get lemonade?”

“Sure,” I say. “How about you ask the waitress? Be polite.”

When the waitress comes and asks for our order, Alaina speaks before I can even open my mouth. “Can I have one lemonade and then for pizza, can we have one with half cheese and half pepperoni?”

I smile at my daughter and feel pride bloom in my chest. We don’t get a lot of time to get out in the world, so I know her as my sheltered baby in the house. But now, I can see that she’s grown to be something much more than that. The waitress and I exchange a bemused smile before she leaves, and I turn back to my daughter with my hands folded together in front of me.

“When did you get so grown up?” I ask. She shrugs and smiles. “That was very good. I’m proud of you. Where’d you learn that?”

“I don’t know,” she says.

I chuckle. “So what did you do at school today?”

She unboxes the crayons she was given and flips over the kids’ menu to the back so she can have a blank sheet of paper. “Christina got in trouble,” she says. “And Ellen was being bossy to me.”

“Oh, she was? What happened?”

She shrugs again and starts drawing a few stick figures. I know what’s coming next, but I will her not to draw it.

“We were playing family. And she said I could only be the baby, not the mommy. She said I couldn’t play with her if I wasn’t gonna be the baby.”

“So what did you do?”

“I didn’t play with her anymore,” she says simply. “I played with Maya. And Mel and Veronica.” She stumbles over the name ‘Veronica,’ and it makes me smile. “We played family and I gotted to be the mommy with them.”

“That’s good,” I say. “How about your friends Shelby and Sarah? And Emily and Julia? I haven’t heard you talk about them in a little while.”

“Yeah,” she says, and doesn’t say anything else. I laugh to myself and take a sip of my water as it’s brought to us, and she starts slugging down her lemonade. After we sit quietly for a while, she’s drawing my red hair when she says, “Can you tell me stories about what you did today?”

“Oh, sure,” I say. “I got to work and the first thing I had to do was really big. There was a little girl, about your age, who actually looked a lot like you, too. She reminded me of you.”

She holds up a piece of her hair. “Did she have blonde hair?”

“She did,” I say. “And curly, just like yours. And she probably doesn’t let her mommy brush it, either.” This earns me a little chuckle from her. “One of her kidneys was very sick, and there was a healthy one that was donated for her. And my job was to take that good kidney and put it in her body and make sure that it works.”

“Did it?” she asks, looking up from the paper.

“It did,” I say, leaning forward. “Pretty soon, she’s gonna be good as new.”

“What’s a kidney?” Alaina asks, looking back down at her drawing.

“It’s an organ in our bodies,” I say. “We all have two of them, but you can live with one if you have to. They help remove bad stuff.”

“Like poop?” she asks, a mischievous look on her face, as she knows she shouldn’t use potty words at the table.

“Kind of,” I say, shaking my head at her. “Not quite. But you’re on the right track.”

About three minutes later, the mad scribbling starts. There’s no black in the four-set of crayons that came with the menu, so she chooses blue as the next best thing to scratch out where her father once was.

“Honey, do we have to do that right now?” I ask, reaching for the paper. “Our pizza’s coming soon. And you’re gonna break the crayon.”

“I want to draw it,” she grunts, still scratching.

I sigh. “How about you just draw a picture of me and you? Just us, together?”

“I want to make him gone,” she says. “He is gone so I want to draw him gone.”

I stare silently, just blinking ahead.

“He’s gone forever, right?” she asks. “Like great-grandpa.”

“No, not like great-grandpa,” I say. “Great-grandpa is in heaven with Jesus. Your daddy is still alive.”

“But he’s never coming back just like great-grandpa’s never coming back,” she says moving her fist in circles with the blue crayon trapped inside of it. “That’s what you said.”

“That is what I said,” I mutter, and then spot our pizza coming. “Pizza’s here.”

Relief. Distracted by the food, Alaina moves her paper to the side and makes room for her plate. We eat together happily, momentarily forgetting about the disturbing drawing, and are full and happy once we’re done. We get a box for the remaining pieces, pay the bill, and are heading out the door when we run into no one else but Mr. Avery at the host stand.

“Well, hey there,” he says, smiling at me and then kneeling down to Alaina. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you guys were following me.”

She looks up at me with a grin, then back down at him. “We were here first,” she says.

“Got me there,” he says, and stands up. He’s taller than me by more than half a foot, so I have to tip my head up a little to make eye contact. “What’d you guys eat"

“Half cheese, half pepperoni, our classic,” I say, putting one hand on top of my daughter’s head. “I felt bad for this morning, we were both in bad moods. So I took her here.”

“Lucky you, pizza on a Tuesday,” he says, and Alaina giggles. “How’ve you been?” he asks me, resting his weight over on one hip.

“Okay,” I say. “Busy. Just… super busy. Stressed. Anxious. Overwhelmed.”

“But somehow okay?” he smiles.

“Somehow,” I say. “I’m still standing, at least.”

“That’s true,” he says. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you. She’s doing great. In class, I mean. She’s really getting comfortable, coming into her own. She’s excelling really fast, faster than mostly everyone.”

“That’s great,” I say. “I mean, I always knew she was a genius.”

“For sure,” he says. “Probably gets it from you, right?”

I flush a little bit; I feel my chest get hot but I pray it doesn’t move up to my cheeks. “Must be,” I say. “So what are you doing here, meeting someone?”

“Oh, no,” he says, waving off my words. “Just waiting for a carryout. I didn’t feel like cooking tonight.” He pauses. “Well, I never feel like cooking. They know me pretty well here.”

“I know the feeling,” I say. “And oh, I was gonna say. I saw you playing with the kids earlier. She looked so happy. Thank you for doing that. I mean, thank you for just being… you know, around. It means a lot to me. It means a lot to her, too, I promise you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he says. “I love playing with those little gremlins. Letting ‘em think they’re better than me.” He says the last part to Alaina and she stomps one foot.

“I am better!” she insists.

“Okay, yeah, this one’s better,” he says. “Future NBA star right here.”

There’s a beat between us where I realize that it’s not quite normal to be standing in the lobby of a pizza restaurant, staring at your daughter’s kindergarten teacher with an adoring smile on your face. “We should get going,” I say. “Bedtime is approaching, and this one needs a bath.”

“No…” she groans.

“I can smell you from up here,” Mr. Avery says. “You better get home and take a bath so you don’t stink up Room 105 tomorrow.”

She screws up her face at him, and I take her by the shoulder. “Okay, that face she just made was one I’ve totally seen you make before,” he says to me with a chuckle. “Anyway, goodnight guys. I’ll see you,” he points to Alaina. “Tomorrow.”

** JACKSON **

When September turns into October, I couldn’t be more thankful. The breeze blowing in from the open classroom windows is refreshing instead of stifling, and the room smells more like autumn instead of sweaty kids covered in woodchips from the playground. I’ve gotten to know all of them pretty well, along with their home lives and families from stories they’ve told.

The hardest nut to crack was, of course, Alaina Kepner - but she’s a much different person than she was on the first day. When there’s enough time, she’ll talk to me before class starts and she’s attached to my hip during the after-school program; she tells me everything about her life and asks me about mine like we’re best friends. Lately, our lengthy discussions have been about what she plans on being for Halloween.

“I don’t want to be something scary,” she tells me, sitting at a long cafeteria table as we eat our snack before activities start after school. She has a cup of pears and a graham cracker, and I have peaches.

“No?” I ask, drinking the juice.

“My mom says that’s just sugar,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “She says I shouldn’t drink it.”

“Well, what else would you do with it?” I ask, finishing up. “It’s a waste if you throw it out.”

She looks at me skeptically, then lifts the cup to her lips. “It’s sweet,” she says.

“It’s sugar,” I whisper. “Anyway, why not something scary?”

“Because I hate scary.”

“Hey…” I warn.

“Because I don’t  _like_  scary,” she corrects. “I want to be a princess.”

“Don’t be Elsa,” I say. “Everyone is gonna be Elsa. You wanna be something that’s more unique than that.”

“Like…” she taps her chin. “I don’t know. All of them are boring.”

“Not  _all_  of them,” I say. “Have you ever seen Princess and the Frog?”

“I’ve seen them all,” she says. “That’s Princess Tiana.”

“She’s not boring,” I say. “You could be her.”

She holds up her arm and widens her eyes at me. “Um, she has brown skin and I don’t,” she says. “I can’t be her. I don’t look like her.” She slumps in her chair. “I wish I did.”

I chuckle to myself. “Doesn’t matter,” I say. “Princesses can have any color skin they want. Especially since you’re just playing, it’s just a costume. If you love Tiana, then you should be her. Simple as that.”

“I want to!” she says.

“Then ask your mom,” I say. “I’m sure she’ll take you to Target or somewhere, and you can buy her dress.”

“I’m gonna be Tiana, I’m gonna be Tiana,” she sings, eating her pears with a plastic spoon. “Thanks Mr. Avery!”

I laugh a little bit and bump her with my shoulder. “You’re welcome, scrub.”

“I’m not a scrub,” she says, pursing her lips. “That’s what my mommy wears.”

“Oh yeah, she does, doesn’t she,” I say. “How’s she been lately?” I try to make it sound nonchalant, and to her it doesn’t seem weird. I’m glad.

“Good,” she says, then gasps. “Guess what! I got to see Ellie on the weekend.”

“You did?”

“Uh-huh. She camed over and babysitted me because Mommy went out. She putted on her fancy work clothes and went to talk to a man. She went to see a man.”

I look away from Alaina and down at the table, then draw my lower lip into my mouth. “Oh, she did?”

“Uh-huh. And I had so much fun with Ellie. She let me have three treats and then we watched Monster High, which Mommy doesn’t like. But Ellie liked it. And she put me to bed and stayed late!”

So April went on a date. I have absolutely no reason to be feeling as blindsided as I do, but I can’t help it. I try not to let it show, but that’s hard. “That’s really great,” I tell her. “I’m happy you got to see Ellie.”

“Me, too,” she says. “And in the morning, Mommy was so happy that she made waffles and pancakes.”

I raise my eyebrows a little. “Both, huh?”

“Yeah! That means she’s  _really_  happy.”

“That’s good,” I say, though I hear how thin my voice is. “That’s really good.”

** APRIL **

Alaina has been begging me to play soccer for years. I’ve never had time, but I told myself that this would be the year that I finally let her join something. I carve out my Saturdays to make sure that I’ll always have time for her practices and games, and sign her up for a junior AYSO league that plays on the lakefront. She couldn’t be more excited.

I have therapy appointments on Friday nights now, which are the only nights I could free up from work. I can’t possibly shove anything more into my schedule, so even that was a stretch. But it feels good to be able to talk to someone about everything that’s going on. It puts me in an amazing mood for Saturdays, which is great for my daughter. Finally, things are starting to look up.

Her first soccer game falls on the second Saturday in October, and it’s sunny and crisp outside. We haven’t yet had a practice because last Saturday was rained out, but she doesn’t care. She tells me that she doesn’t have to practice anyway; she’s already good. She’s bouncing around the foyer in her cleats, socks, shinguards and jersey - which is white and pink, and her new favorite article of clothing.

She sings along to the radio loudly the whole ride to the lake, the window down and one hand out of it. I French braided her hair back so none of it flies around, and it makes my heart swell to see her so unabashedly happy. We should’ve done this so much sooner.

“Do you have snacks, mommy?” she asks, hopping out of the car once I park.

“Yep, and a juice box,” I say, scanning the fields. “We’re on Field 13. I didn’t catch your coach’s name on the roster, but… just look for pink and white jerseys, okay?”

“Sure,” she says, and I feel her hand slip into mine as we cross the street to the line of fields. It only takes a second before she jumps up and down, saying, “Pink and white, pink and white!”

I follow her pointed finger and see that she’s right; the pink and white jerseys are close to the lake, scattered about a small field. “Well, let’s go,” I say, and we make our way over.

When we get to the field and set our stuff down, my mouth drops open when I see who’s standing in the middle of the field with a whistle around his neck; wearing jeans and a light gray t-shirt. “Hey, look who it is,” I say to Alaina.

“Mr. Avery!” she screams, and runs at him. I stand up to my full height and wave in his direction, and he waves to Alaina then walks over to me.

“I really think you’re stalking me now,” he says, smiling. His eyes squint against the bright sunlight, and I use my hand as a visor.

“What is going on?” I ask, laughing. “This is crazy. What are you doing here?”

“Well, this is my cousin’s daughter’s team,” he says, turning and pointing to a little girl in braids sitting on top of a soccer ball, gnawing on the nozzle of a water bottle. “She’s really into it, as you can see. They needed another coach, and I try to do what I can for them. It’s a family thing for me, so really I should be asking you.... What are  _you_  doing here?”

I cross my arms and pop one hip out. “Lainey wanted to play soccer,” I say, tipping my head. “I think I’ve been depriving her of childhood experiences, so I put her on a team that still had openings.” I glance around the field and see no one doing anything related to soccer. “Maybe I picked the loser team…” I say jokingly.

“You definitely did,” he says, nodding. “Except you got me, so you’ve got that going for you.”

I smile at him, running one hand through my hair. “That’s true,” I say. “We’ll just have to keep stalking you for a little longer, I guess.”


	3. Chapter 3

** APRIL **

“Mommy, mommy!” Alaina shouts from the middle of the soccer field. “Look!” My eyes shift away from Mr. Avery and land on my daughter, who’s pointing madly to a little girl next to her. “Julia’s on my team! I know her!”

“That’s awesome, baby,” I call out, smiling at her as she takes Julia’s arm and starts sprinting down the field with her.

“Has she talked to you about Halloween yet?” Mr. Avery asks, looking away from the field to meet my eyes.

I shake my head. “No.”

He chuckles a little bit. “Well, she wants to be Tiana from Princess and the Frog.”

I narrow my eyes. “She hasn’t watched that movie for years. How did she get that idea? I’m surprised she doesn’t want to be something awful from Monster High.”

“Nope, Tiana.”

“I’m not buying the fact that she thought of that all on her own, Mr. Avery,” I say, half-smiling.

“You don’t have to call me that, you know,” he says. “You’re not a kindergartener. You can call me Jackson.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” I say. “Okay, Jackson.”

“I like the sound of that much better,” he says.

“You never use my name,” I say. “You know what it is, right?”

“Of course I do,” he says. “April. You look just like an April.”

“I do?”

He nods.

“How does someone  _look_  like their name?” I ask.

“You know,” he says, making a vague gesture with his hand. “Like someone looks like their birthday. What’s yours?”

“April 23rd.”

“Wow…” he trails off, smirking.

“What?”

“Your parents were obviously really original. Naming their daughter April when she’s born in April. They must have been thinking about that one for ages,” he says.

“Hey, shut up,” I say, smacking his bicep.

“Just makes it easier for you to look like your birthday, then, I guess,” he says. “Proves I’m right.”

“Oh, that proves nothing,” I counter.

“Try and guess my birthday, just the month. My guess is you’ll get it right; I look like I was born in this month,” he says.

I toss my hands up a little bit and smack my hips when they come back down. “God, I don’t know,” I say.

“Come on, just try,” he chides.

“I don’t know…” I trail off. “Early August?”

He presses a hand to his chest. “You honestly think I’m a Leo?” he asks, pretending to be offended. “I was sure you thought better of me.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in all that horoscope crap,” I say, giving him a look.

“Don’t tell me you  _don’t_ ,” he says. “I check my calendar every morning, it has my daily  _Sagittarius_ horoscope on it and I go about my day accordingly.”

“You’re joking.”

He cracks up. “I totally am,” he says. “But my birthday is in December. I really am a Sagittarius.”

“You don’t seem like a winter to me,” I say. “You seem like a summer.”

“So I’m warm and inviting,” he says, eyes glinting. “And you just admitted that someone can totally look like their birthdays.”

“Well, no-”

“Mommy!” Alaina comes bounding up and stands between myself and her teacher. She already has dirt smeared on her cheek; from what, I have no idea. “Mr. Avery, we had pancakes and waffles again this morning,” she says proudly.

“You did, did you?” he asks.

“Uh-huh,” she says. “Remember what I said why she does that? Because she’s super happy!”

Alaina runs back to her friend and leaves the two of us alone again. “Exactly how much does she tell you?” I ask him jokingly. “Seems like you know my whole life story, moods included.”

“She told me the other day that you made pancakes and waffles on Saturday mornings when you’re really happy,” he says. “She also said it’s because you ‘went to see a man’ the night before.”

“Oh, my god,” I say, turning away and covering my face. “That’s mortifying.”

He laughs. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah, you’re not the one whose personal life is being put up in lights!” I say, smiling.

“It’s no big deal, I swear,” he says. “All the kids do it. I know way more about these parents than you’d ever expect.”

I turn back towards him. “Go see a man,” I repeat under my breath. “She makes it sound like I’m going on dates, which…” I laugh. “No. No, no.”

“Oh… you aren’t?” he asks, clearing his throat.

I give him a skeptical look. “Uh, no,” I say. I wonder how far I’m going to take this conversation; I consider shutting up, but then I realize I don’t care. What does it matter if he knows I’m talking to a counselor? “I go to therapy on Friday nights. That’s why I’m ‘really happy’ on Saturdays.”

“Jesus,” he says.

“So there’s a little fact about my life that you didn’t know five minutes ago,” I say.

“Well, I’m glad I know it now,” he says.

“Avery!” A voice sounds from across the field and I look across to see a man with salt-and-pepper hair calling to Jackson with one hand cupped around his mouth. “Game time, get your ass over here!”

Jackson shoots me a look and raises one hand in a small wave. “Talk to you after?” he says.

“Sure,” I say. “Good luck wrangling all these monsters.”

I sit on a lawnchair on the sidelines and watch the pink-and-white team, which got named The Flamingos, do everything but play soccer. Alaina starts out strong by giving the ball one big, hard kick down the middle of the field, but ends the game by picking flowers by the other team’s goal.

“Honey,” I call out, and she looks over to me. I point madly in the direction where the rest of her team is scuffling around. Instead of following my finger, though, she hurries over to me and hands me the fistful of flowers that she picked.

“Got these for you, mama,” she breathes.

“They’re beautiful,” I say. “Go play, though, okay? Go get that ball.”

She plops down by my feet. “Don’t want to,” she says, wrapping her arms around her bent knees. “I’m tired. Can we get ice cream?”

I sigh. “We can afterwards if you go and play for the rest of the game.”

She falls on her side and whines, “Mommy…”

“No ice cream if you don’t play,” I say, knowing bribing isn’t exactly the best tactic, but it’s all I have going for me right now.

“Number 3!” The coach that isn’t Jackson shouts. “Back in the game, player! We’re missin’ you!”

“Your coach is calling you,” I say, nudging her shoulder.

“I only listen to Mr. Avery,” she says, all pouty. “Coach Sloan is too bossy.”

I look up and make eye contact with Jackson, who’s waving Alaina over. “Look, who's calling you,” I say, nudging her again. “You better go.”

She lets out a long sigh and then pushes herself up from the ground to skip across the field to talk to her coach. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I see my daughter’s face shift from a frown into a smile, and I know he’s somehow worked his magic.

After the game is over with a tie of 0-0, the team is cheering like they’ve done something amazing. I can’t help but join in with Jackson as he laughs good-naturedly, arms crossed while he watches the girls celebrate.

“Hey, I’m going out for pizza with Mark and his daughter, Sofia, if you wanna tag along with us,” Jackson says, shifting his eyes over to me.

“Mark?” I ask.

“Yeah, my co-coach,” he says, nodding towards him. He has a dark-haired little girl on his shoulders, cheering along with everyone else. “That’s his daughter, Sofia. I’m her godfather. We hang out a lot; he’s another reason why I’m coaching this team, along with my cousin.”

“That sounds fun,” I say. “Let me ask Lainey.”

When I ask her, she stomps one foot and says, “But you said  _ice cream_.”

“You’re right, I did,” I say. “But you like pizza, too, right?”

“No,” she says. “I like ice cream better. I just want ice cream, like you said.”

I give in to her, because that was what I said. “We’re gonna have to pass this time,” I tell Jackson. “But maybe next game. Rain check?”

“Sure,” he says. “Great job playing today, Alaina. I’ll see you at school on Monday, okay? Have a great rest of your weekend.”

She suddenly gets shy and attaches herself to my leg, peering around so only one eye is visible. “Thanks,” I giggle, rolling my eyes lightly at her strange behavior. “You, too.”

***

Later that night, I’m sitting on the floor next to the bathtub as I help Alaina scrub off her soccer game before bedtime. Right now, she’s dunking a purple mermaid barbie in and out of the water forcefully and making up some storyline to go along with her torture that I haven’t been keeping up with.

“Look, mommy,” she says, extending her arms as she holds her barbie in both hands. “Barbie has a tail with a fin. How does she go potty? She has no ba-gina.”

I’m a doctor, so in our house we don’t use fluffy words for anatomy.

“You’re right,” I say, smiling at her observation. “I’m not sure how she goes potty. Maybe she doesn’t go at all.”

Alaina’s eyes widen as she wipes some suds off of her chin. “Ewwy,” she says. “Do you know what?”

“What?”

“I know how boys go pee,” she says proudly, lifting her chin. “Boys have a penis.”

Caught off guard by her sudden conversation change, I raise my eyebrows and open my mouth slightly before responding. “Uh, yes,” I say. “Yes, they do.”

“Not me, though,” she says. “Or you. Right, mommy? Mommy, are you a girl?”

I chuckle a little bit. “Yes, honey. I’m a girl.”

“So you have a ba-gina, too.”

“Yes, I do,” I say.

“We don’t even have a penis in our house!” she says, shooting her arms into the air and throwing her head back. “But there is a penis at school.”

I scrunch up my forehead, waiting for her to continue.

“Tristan asked me on the playground if I wanted to see his,” she says. “I said no and runned away.”

I sit up straighter and lean forward. “Did you tell your teacher?”

She shakes her head, whipping her wet hair around. “I runned away too fast!” she says. “Mommy, does Mr. Avery have a penis?”

I feel like I’ve been knocked in the side of the head. My grip tightens on the side of the bathtub and I take a big breath in, suddenly inundated with mental pictures of Jackson in a way I never thought I’d be picturing him. I’ve seen his hands and his stature; I have no doubt that he’s well-endowed. And I also have no doubt that I shouldn’t be thinking about this with Alaina blinking her big blue eyes at me, waiting for an answer.

“Um, yes,” I say. “He’s a boy. But you don’t need to be thinking about that, okay?”

She pats her palms against the surface of the water. “Why?” she asks.

“Because he’s a grown-up, and that’s a grown-up thing,” I say. “Let’s talk more about this Tristan character… why would he ask you if you wanted to see his privates? You know the rules about privates.”

“Never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever show them to anyone who isn’t Mommy,” she says. “I didn’t. I don’t know why he wanted to. He’s weird.”

“Yeah,” I say, a bit troubled by this fact. I remind myself to bring it up with Jackson when I pick her up from school on Monday - I don’t want it escalating. “Let’s get some shampoo in your hair,” I say. “Get you clean so you can get some rest for church in the morning.”

After Alaina is sleeping soundly and I’m back downstairs sitting at the counter in our dimly lit kitchen, my cell phone rings. I let out a long sigh, hoping it’s not the hospital with an urgent trauma, and slide off the tall chair to go pick it up. When I look at the screen, I see that it’s not the hospital but a number I thought I’d never see lighting up my phone again.

My hand hovers over it, fingers bent slightly as I wonder what to do about this. I listen to my ringtone play until the time is up, and the notification shows up right away.

_Matthew Taylor_

_Missed Call_

My breath comes shallower as I stare down at the phone until the screen goes dark. As my eyes stay focused on it, the call comes in again. He’s not going to give up; but I let it go to voicemail once again. This time, he leaves one.

I pick up my phone and bring it back to the counter where I had been sitting. I unlock the screen, check some of my notifications to make them go away and to stall what I know I’ll inevitably do. After a few minutes, I find my way to the Phone app and click through until I get to Voicemail. The one he left is short; only six seconds long. I can do this. I can listen to this. What harm can he do in six seconds?

My finger pauses over the button and I close my eyes when I finally press it.

“Hey April, it’s Matthew. I know we haven’t talked in awhile, but I was hoping I could talk to you about something regarding Alaina. Call me back, thanks. Bye.”

I open my lips and let out a breath I’d been keeping in. Regarding Alaina? I hold my phone and tap the back of it against the black countertop as I think over what to do next. I count my breaths and stare at some crumbs on the counter that Alaina left from breakfast this morning, then pick them up with my fingertip to brush them into the sink.

I should call him back. I know I don’t owe him a thing, but I can’t help but wonder what he wants. If he hadn’t mentioned her name, I would’ve deleted the message and moved on with my life. But the fact that he did… it makes me wonder.

I can’t make myself do it, though, not without talking to someone about it first. I pick up the phone and dial a number that isn’t his, but Arizona’s.

“Hello?” she answers right away, sounding a little alarmed. We’re friends at work, but not really the type to call each other to shoot the breeze. “Is everything okay?”

“I… yeah,” I say. “Everything’s fine. Mostly.”

“Uh, mostly?” she says. “What’s going on?”

I rest my chin on my palm and lean heavy against it. “I just put Alaina down. We had a long day; she had her first soccer game this morning. It was a good day. And I was just sitting here at the counter about to eat something and turn the TV on, but then… Matthew called.”

“Wait…  _Matthew_ , Matthew?”

“Yeah, that Matthew.” I close my eyes. “I didn’t answer the first time, then the second time he left a message.”

“Did you listen to it?”

“Yeah. He said he wanted to talk to me about something ‘regarding Alaina.’” I shrug my shoulders and raise my arm with my palm up. “I don’t know what that even means.”

“Are you gonna call him back?” she asks.

“I don’t want to,” I say emphatically. “But I feel like I have to.”

“Well, you don’t  _have_ to do anything,” she says. “You guys are divorced.”

“I know,” I say. “But he’s talking about our daughter… he  _is_  her father. I… doesn’t he have some sort of right there?”

“I don’t know, does he?” she asks. “What’s the custody agreement?”

“It ended badly between us,” I say. “He walked out a couple days before her fourth birthday, you know that. We don’t have a custody agreement, except for the fact that I have full. He didn’t say anything about wanting her back when he left, and I wouldn’t have given her to him, anyway. I…” I massage my temples and shake my head. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to… he can’t just call and disrupt my life like this.”

“Well, maybe it’s nothing,” she says. “Maybe you’re worrying for no reason.”

“It doesn’t feel like that,” I say. “I don’t know. I just get a bad feeling.”

“The only way you’ll be able to know for sure is if you call him back,” she says. “Otherwise it’s just gonna eat at you and you’re gonna keep wondering.”

“Yeah…” I say, because I know she’s not wrong.

“And Alaina’s asleep, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then now’s the perfect time to get it over with. If you wait, you’ll just keep finding excuses why you don’t have time. Just nip it in the bud. See what he wants, then move on with your life.”

“Okay,” I say softly. “I’ll call him back. Thanks for talking to me.”

“No problem,” she says. “Call back after, if you want. Tell me how it goes.”

“Okay, maybe,” I say. “I’m gonna go. Might as well get it over with, like you said.”

I hang up the phone and then stare at the screen for a while, focusing on the contact name that used to be so familiar to me, now become foreign. After what seems like forever has passed, I finally press down on it and the phone starts to ring.

My heart is in my throat as the first and second ring pass, and I find myself hoping that he won’t pick up. That it’ll go right to voicemail and I’ll be able to leave a message and put this off for another time, but that doesn’t happen. I hear the voice that I used to hear every day almost two years ago; first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. I used to love this voice; I have so many memories that include it. But now, it’s attached to a man I don’t recognize and had hoped to never deal with again.

“Hey, April,” he says, and it makes me feel sick to hear him say my name. It sounds too comfortable in his mouth.

“Hi,” I say tersely.

“Thanks for calling me back,” he says. “I, uh,” he laughs, “wasn’t sure if you would.”

“Yeah,” I say. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“How’ve you been?” he asks, ignoring my question.

I grit my teeth. I hadn’t wanted to waste time with pleasantries; we don’t know each other like that anymore. That time has long since passed. “Fine,” I say. I don’t reciprocate the question.

“And Alaina?” he asks. “She’s five now, right?”

“She’s doing fine,” I say. “You wanted to talk about her?”

“I, um, yeah,” he says, pausing. “I don’t know if you know this but I, uh, I got remarried this past summer…”

I double over with a physical feeling of being punched in the gut. Remarried in the summer, after barely two years of ditching his family. I can only assume that he married the woman he chose over us, though I would never dream of asking. I don’t really want to know. I sit here feeling stupid, wondering how I could’ve ever thought I was in love with a man who could so easily trade in his family for someone he sees as better.

“And anyway, me and Leah have been talking about kids. Without getting into all the details, Alaina came up, because she’s obviously my daughter. I don’t plan on forgetting about her just because I’m going to start a family with Leah, I hope you know that.”

I’m not sure if he’s meaning for this to be heartwarming, because it’s not. What I want from him, more than anything, is to forget about us.

“And I was really hoping she could be a part of this family with us. A lot of kids do it, you know, have two families when their parents are divorced. Leah is great with kids, and I really think Alaina would have a nice time with us here.”

I hold onto the counter for support, because I feel like I’m about to fall off my chair with the shock of what he’s saying. “What are you asking me?” I say. “I don’t think I understand what you’re getting at here.”

“I’m asking to see her, April,” he says. “It’s been… geez, she was like, three, the last time I saw her.”

“That was your choice,” I say firmly, feeling my eyes glaze over with tears. “You walked out on her.” I refuse to add myself into the equation.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t,” he says. “I’m just saying that I’d like to see my daughter. It’s been a long time without her, and I miss her.”

I scoff. “You miss her.”

“Yes.”

I can’t think of an answer that will suffice. I spend a long time holding the phone as tightly as I can, opening and closing my mouth like a fish, unable to speak.

“And if you’re not gonna do this with me the easy way, I’m not afraid to get the courts involved,” he says. “If that’s something I need to do, I’ll do it.”

My whole body gets hot and I clutch the phone tighter. “You’re not going to take her away from me,” I say. “You’re not going to take her, too.”

He sighs. “I’m not trying to take her from you, April,” he says. “She’s my child, too. It’s only right that we share her. I don’t think it’s that outlandish for me to be asking for joint custody.”

“Where were you for the last two years then?” I ask, my voice trembling. “A card on her birthday doesn’t count as being her father. All you want to do is complete your...your little idea of a family and Alaina is that missing puzzle piece for you. She’s a human being, Matthew. She’s a child. She’s not some pawn in your….your... fucked up game.”

“You don’t get it,” he says, and I can picture him rolling his eyes, writing me off. “And you’re apparently bent on not getting it. I thought there was a chance that we might be able to do this civilly, amicably even. But I can see you’re not going to make that possible.”

“If it involves you taking my child away from me, no,” I say. “I’m not.”

“ _Our_  child,” he says. “She’s  _our_  child.”

“I said what I said,” I growl.

“You don’t seem like yourself,” he says, and his tone is vindictive. “Maybe help with raising Alaina wouldn’t be the worst thing for you. I know you’re not working any less hours; that nanny probably sees more of Alaina than you do. Why won’t you give me a chance? I’m her father. Isn’t my presence better than a nanny’s?”

“For your information,” I say. “We don’t have a nanny anymore. I see plenty of Alaina, and I’m figuring it out on my own. You don’t have the right to talk about my life like that anymore. You’re not a part of it.”

“You still don’t sound like yourself.”

“Well, how about you have your husband walk out on you to start a life with another woman and then tell me how it affects you,” I spit. I open my mouth to talk about how I haven’t been the same since he left; I’ve become more jaded, cynical and wary of life than when we were married, but he doesn’t get to know that. He doesn’t deserve to. I won’t let him know how he’s scarred me. “This conversation is over.”

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers,” he informs me.

“I look forward to it,” I retort, and then press my thumb down hard over the red hangup button.

** JACKSON **

After the soccer game, I go out to pizza with Mark and his daughter, Sofia. Per Sofia’s request, we end up at Chuck E. Cheese’s, and are wolfing down mediocre pizza and flat pop while Sofia plays arcade games with the amount of tokens that probably weighs as much as she does.

“I thought you were gonna invite that Kepner woman here with us,” Mark says, discarding the crust of his third piece of pizza. “I thought that was your big master plan.”

“It was not a ‘master plan,’” I say, rolling my eyes. “And I did invite her. Her daughter didn’t want to come; they already had plans. They were going out for ice cream. She gave me a rain check.”

“You better make that rain check happen, Avery,” Mark says. “Don’t let her fall to the wayside. You know my stance on telling someone how you feel about them. You gotta do it.”

“Okay, but it’s not that dramatic,” I say. “I don’t love her or anything.”

“But you could.”

I shake my head. “I just see her all the time. It’s weird. Lately, it seems like she’s around every corner. It’s kind of freaking me out, actually. I’m her kid’s teacher, her kid’s soccer coach, I saw them at Homeslice the other night. It’s just crazy.”

“Maybe it’s the universe,” Mark says, gesturing widely. “Trying to tell you something.”

“Shut up,” I say.

“She has a kid,” he points out. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

I look around to the hundreds of kids that we’re surrounded by right now, then look pointedly back at my dim best friend.

“Oh, right,” he says.

“I’m surrounded by kids everywhere I go,” I say. “It’s not a big deal for me.”

He sighs. “You know, when I was your age…”

“So… like, ten years ago.”

“Hey,” he says, pointing his finger at me. “It looks like it could be five. But anyway, when I was your age, we did this thing called asking women out on actual  _dates_.”

I press my lips together. “I don’t want to freak her out,” I say. “I think she’s got some…personal stuff going on.”

“Oh, who doesn’t have stuff?” Mark says. “We all have stuff. What’s the harm in asking? You know what you should do, you should take her out on a date to a bowling alley.”

“Bowling,” I repeat, deadpan.

“Yeah,” he says. “Chicks dig it.”

“Chicks?” I say, widening my eyes. “What are you, from the 80s?”

“Be nice,” he says. “I’m all you have. I’m telling you, you can’t go wrong.”

“It sounds like plenty could go wrong with that. Who goes bowling anymore?” I ask.

“Exactly. She’ll think it’s unique. She definitely won’t forget it, that’s for sure. Plus, you get to talk. You don’t have to sit all quiet watching a movie both of you hate. Even better, maybe she won’t know her form… you’ll have to go up behind her, show her how it’s done…”

“Right, because I’m an expert bowler,” I say.

“Fake it until you make it, Avery,” he says. “It could be the first step to forever.”

I narrow my eyes. “Did you recently read some self-help motivational book or something? A poster? All of these things you’re saying sound like they’ve been trademarked.”

“That’s not the type of language I want from my assistant coach,” he says, picking up another piece of pizza.

“Co-coach,” I correct. “We’re co-coaches, Sloan.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” he says. “Sure, number 2.”

I roll my eyes and take a sip of my drink, shuddering as the sugary sweetness assaults my mouth. As I set my cup back down, Sofia comes trotting over with a slew of tickets strung around her shoulders and falling over her arms, even dragging on the floor behind her.

“Holy cow, Sof!” Mark exclaims. “What’d ya do, clear ‘em out?” He picks her up and lifts her onto his lap, hugging her close. “That’s my girl,” he says. “That’s a Sloan right there.”

“I winned these all by myself,” Sofia says, turning around to show me her thousands of tickets.

“How’d you do it?” Mark asks.

“I had enough tokens to do all the games,” she says. “I winned every single one. And more and more tickets keeped coming!”

“Nice,” Mark says enthusiastically, looking in her cup of tokens. “You still got some left, too. Leave these tickets here with me and go make me proud.”

She bounces off his lap with her cup in hand, headed back towards the games. “See,” I say, looking back to him. “That’s what I want. I want the whole thing.”

“The whole thing, huh?” he asks. “What, the one night oopsie and a built-in lesbian lover?”

I roll my eyes. “No, fuckhead.”

I hear Sofia’s voice from behind me ask, “What’s a fuckhead?”

I widen my eyes and mouth ‘I’m sorry’ and Mark looks unamused. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he says. “Uncle Jackson just has a potty-mouth, that’s all. How about you just don’t repeat anything he ever says, alright? He’s a very bad influence.” Sofia giggles and then runs back off, and Mark faces me again. “Seeing as you work with kids for every facet of your life, I’d think you’d be more careful with what you say, Avery.”

“I say words like boo-boo and potty all day,” I say. “There has to be some times where I get a break. I’d go crazy if I didn’t.”

He laughs and keeps his eyes on Sofia as she makes the rounds through the arcade again. “You can make this thing with you and Kepner work,” he says. “Don’t be a pansy about it. Just ask, like I said. You never know what she might say.”

“I don’t want to make things weird,” I say. “Imagine if she said no. I’d still have to see her for the rest of the year; I’ll still have to interact with her kid.”

“I hear excuses,” Mark says. “And bad ones, at that. When did you become such a coward? Who cares if she says no? If she says no, she says no. It’s not personal. Or, maybe it is. Either way, it doesn’t matter. You need to start putting yourself out there… when’s the last time you had a date? When’s the last time you got  _laid_ , for that matter?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Exactly. It’s been too long. It’s messing with your head.”

“It’s not…” I sigh and rub my temples. “I’m fine. I don’t want her just… for that.”

“I realize,” he says. “But I’m saying, it can’t hurt.”

Now I’m picturing April’s body in ways that I really shouldn’t be, sitting in the middle of Chuck E. Cheese’s across from my best friend. I shake my head and get the image of her naked out of it, but that proves harder than it seems.

“Now you’re thinking about it, aren’t you,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

“What? No,” I say. “No, I’m not.”

“I could see it in your eyes. You want her. It’s okay, Avery. Admit it. It’s fine to admit it. You’re a man; we need these things. It’s completely normal. I can’t even remember the last time you had a girlfriend… what, was it that girl Stephanie?” I nod. “That was more than a year ago. What have you been doing? Where’s that old lady killer I know?”

“I… I don’t know,” I say. “I just felt like that wasn’t me anymore. It seemed like a waste of time.”

“Wait, hold on,” he says. “Are you telling me that you’re ready to settle down?”

“I just told you I want the whole thing,” I snap. “I have a career. A house. I’m 33, I’m not in my 20s anymore. It just felt stupid to still be messing around.”

“I feel you,” he says seriously. “I do. And whatever you want, you deserve it. And that’s why I’m telling you that you should go get it.”

I let a short puff of air out of my nose. “Yeah, by taking her bowling.”

“I’m telling you, you can’t go wrong,” he says. “Laugh at me all you want. But you won’t be laughing for long.” There’s a short pause between us, and then he asks, “When are you gonna see her next?”

“Monday, just for a couple minutes. She picks her daughter up right after school on Mondays. On Tuesday I’ll see her for a little longer, when she picks her kid up from the after-school program that I run.”

“That’s right, that’s right,” Mark says. “Okay, so make a plan. Tuesday. You get a chance to talk to her, you get the ball rolling. You make things happen. You take your balls out of your pocket and reattach them; you gotta get back to the Avery I know. I miss him. He was good people.”

“Shut up,” I say, but mull over what he’s said. “She did once tell me she wasn’t looking to date, though.”

He looks surprised. “How’d that come up?”

“It was the first day we’d met,” I say. “She thought I was gonna ask her out and I wasn’t. I was talking about something completely different.”

“So she was thinking about it, unprompted,” Mark says, smiling. “That’s a good sign.”

“Well… no,” I say. “She blatantly said she wasn’t looking for-”

“That was the first day you met. September. We’re halfway through October now. It’s a different time. You know each other better now! Stop making excuses. Just shut that brain off and ask her.”

I sigh and take another sip of my flat pop. He’s right. I can ask her; there’s no harm in asking. The worst she can say is no. I tell myself that on Tuesday, I’ll do it.


	4. Chapter 4

** JACKSON **

On Tuesday during the after-school program, I can’t get my brain to shut up. I look towards the door every five seconds starting right when school ends, anticipating the moment when April walks in to pick up Alaina. Prior to this, I spent the whole day hyping myself up and going over how this interaction would play out. If she just follows her parts in the script I made up in my head, it should be fine.

“Mr. Avery, come play with us!” the kids shout, as I sit at one of the wooden picnic tables on the playground. It’s the third week in October, but an unseasonably warm day, so we took the kids outside with no coats.

“I have some paperwork to get done,” I lie. “Mr. Warren’s gonna have to be enough for you today.”

I sigh and look back down at the roster of kids in attendance today, making sure the check marks are all in their correct places - which of course, they are. It’s not a hard system. I just can’t make my brain focus on the kids today because I’m so damn nervous about what my conversation with April Kepner is going to look like later.

This isn’t like me, either. Like Mark said on Saturday, I used to be a lady killer. I could have any girl I wanted, and I knew it. I know I’m an attractive guy; I’d be stupid and naive if I didn’t know that. Enough women have told me and I have eyes; I’m aware of how differently people treat me than the average guy. But finding the right woman now is harder than it was in my 20s. When I was younger, I didn’t care to think about what we could offer each other for the long-term - all I cared about was the one night. And usually, that’s all they cared about too. I had a few longer relationships, but nothing more than a year. But those kinds of spurts are not what I’m interested in now.

I’m interested in someone who I can talk to and not get bored; who’s going to care about what’s inside more than my stupid eyes. I’m interested in the layers of a person; getting to know them, peeling them back and seeing the raw personality inside. I’ve never had that before with another person; I don’t think I’ve ever really been in love. And I feel like I’m missing out.

It’s presumptuous of me to be putting this all on April, whom I barely know. And I’m not. These are things I’ve been thinking about for a long time, longer than I’ve known her and Alaina. But when I talked to her for the first time, I just felt… a spark. A tiny one, admittedly, but it was there. When she looked into my eyes and smiled on the first day of school, my stomach jumped. I had no idea what was going on. My stomach had never jumped for a woman before, and now it does every time I see her.

I look forward to it at the end of every day. Sometimes we don’t have much time to talk, and others I get to hear about her day. Once in awhile, she’ll tell me about the surgeries she performed and I’ll stand there listening in complete awe, following up with who almost had a potty accident and who read their first book all by themselves during my day.

Our lives are much different, but I find myself wanting to share parts of myself with her that other people don’t know. Vulnerable parts. And I don’t know where that’s coming from.

It’s a little past 6:30 when April finally pulls up in her black Acura MDX, parking next to the curb at the edge of the playground. She gets out, dressed in crisp charcoal gray dress pants and a glossy fuchsia blouse, her hair in easy curls resting on her shoulders as she grabs her purse off the passenger’s seat.

Her heels click on the asphalt as she makes her way over, and she waves when she sees me. “Hey,” she says once she gets closer, and sits down next to me at the picnic table. “Sorry, I’m a little late.”

“It’s fine,” I say, my mouth going dry.  _Say it, say it, say it_. “You look nice.”

“Oh,” she says, looking down with surprise. “God. We had an evaluator at the hospital today and I didn’t have any surgeries, so I was trying to look the part of ‘classy doctor.’” She laughs and tosses her hair over one shoulder. “Did it work?”

I swing one leg over the picnic table and leave one under it so I’m facing her. “I think so,” I say.

She chuckles softly and glances at the roster in front of me. “How was the kid today?” she asks, eyes roving to the playground to land on her daughter, who’s playing tag with Mr. Warren and the three other kids left.

“Good, as usual,” I answer, feeling my stomach do its familiar flips. It feels like I’m in high school, except I wasn’t even this self-conscious then. I had confidence. Back then, every girl fell at my feet. And this one… the one sitting right in front of me, I know she would never do that. She’s a surgeon, for Christ’s sake. And I’m her daughter’s kindergarten teacher. I’m starting to feel like maybe it’s a mistake to ask her, maybe we just don’t match up. Our lives are so different.

“As usual?” she repeats, raising her eyebrows. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard someone say  _that_.”

I nod. “Well, she has her moments, for sure,” I say. “She’s still drawing, you know, the thing.”

“I’m aware,” she says under her breath.

“Yeah. There’s that. And she can get bossy sometimes, but she realizes it. If I bring it to her attention, she has no problem apologizing. Most of the time. She does best when I put her to work; she loves helping. She’s the best helper in the class. I always have her pass out things for me. I think it makes her feel important.”

April smiles and looks down at the wood grain of the table. “That’s something we have in common,” she says. “Probably has something to do with this surgeon ego I have now. Always have to feel like we’re doing the good work.” She laughs. “I didn’t have this confidence before. When I was her age. I was shy, meek, really nerdy. Got bullied pretty bad. So I’m glad that she’s not taking after me in that way.”

I glance over at Alaina, who is cackling while standing at the top of the jungle gym. “No, she definitely doesn’t get taken advantage of,” I say. “She runs her own life, that’s for sure.”

“For sure,” she says. “And friends? How is she doing on friends?”

“Good,” I say. “It’s kindergarten, so really everyone’s friends with everyone. She can work her way around to anyone and play nicely with them. Most of the time.”

“Yeah, most of the time,” she giggles. “I really appreciate you, you know, taking the time to talk to me about her.”

“Of course,” I say. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“No, seriously,” she says. “I appreciate you. She got so lucky to have you as her teacher, because I can tell that this is more than just your job. You do so much extra for these kids, and I just want you to know that it definitely doesn’t go unnoticed. You deserve recognition for what you do; not everyone cares as much as you do. And that’s a really special quality to have. There couldn’t have been a better teacher for her this year. You’re just the person she needs.”

I feel like I’m going to choke on my heart as it’s situated itself right in my throat. “Well, thanks,” I say, not knowing what else to say. I appreciate the compliments very much, because while I get paid a tiny bit more for doing the after-school stuff, it’s not really appreciated by the school. So I’m glad at least someone notices.

“You’re welcome.” There’s a pause where she turns her head out to the playground and then looks back at me. “Hey, I want to ask you something that I’ve been wondering,” she says.

I feel like I’m going to throw up. Is she about to beat me to the punch? I won’t necessarily be mad if she does, but I’ll feel pretty stupid. Mark will make fun of me relentlessly for letting her get there first.

“Sure,” I say.

“Are you single?” she asks, and my stomach drops.

My nerves light up with excitement and anxiety as I answer. “I, uh… yeah,” I say with a smile.

“I’m surprised,” she says. “With eyes like yours…. Anyway. I don’t know how inappropriate this is, but I really want to give you my coworker’s number. Her name is Maggie; she’s really cute and smart, and I think you two would get along.”

I press my lips together and try not to seem obvious with the way I’m feeling. “Um…” I trail off. “Sure.”

“Cool,” she says, sounding excited as she takes out a little red notebook from her purse to jot down the number. She gives it to me, tucking it into my hand. When her skin grazes mine, I feel such a shock that it’s hard not to pull back from the sensation. “I talk about you a  _lot_  at work,” she says. “And Maggie deserves someone like you.”

I laugh, sounding self-deprecating. “Someone like me,” I repeat.

“Yeah,” she says. “Kind, thoughtful, caring,” she laughs. “Funny. Attractive.”

“Jury’s still out on those last two,” I say.

“Says you,” she responds. “Anyway, you should give her a call. I know she’d love to hear from you. Maggie Pierce. She works in cardio, she’s like… a god.”

“Sounds awesome,” I say, hearing the lack of enthusiasm in my voice. I force a smile, and she makes a move to stand.

“So, can I go grab her?” she asks, and I nod her along and watch her leave, stepping over the playground quarter-wall to walk onto the playground.

Fuck. That did not go the way it was supposed to. I didn’t even get a word of what I wanted to say out. My stupid nervousness today was all for nothing.

“Say bye to Mr. Avery,” April says to Alaina as they come back my way, walking towards their car. They’re hand-in-hand, looking like twins as they pass my table.

“Bye, Mr. Avery,” Alaina says with a breathy smile. “I’m line leader tomorrow!”

“Yes, you are,” I say, doing my best at faking happiness. “See you then.”

“Bye, Jackson,” April says, waving her fingers at me.

“See you,” I say, conjuring up the best smile I can muster. It’s not much, I know that. Right now I’m feeling pretty gutted.

***

Later that night, I’m at Irish Eyes with Mark having a drink. I’m avoiding the subject of what was supposed to happen today, and I know he knows it. We’re talking about everything but how my day went, and he keeps giving me this stupid look. I know I shouldn’t be as aggravated with him as I am - he didn’t do anything wrong. All he’s doing is trying to support me. It’s myself who I’m mad at, and he’s the closest person that I can take it out on.

After a couple hours, I open my wallet to pay for my drinks and the little sheet of paper that April wrote the number on falls out. Mark’s eyes light up as he goes to reach for it, and he wags it in the air. “That’s my boy, Avery,” he says. “So you got a number. Why didn’t you tell me? Better yet, why are you even here with me when you could be gettin’ it  _on_?”

“Well, that’s not-”

“What’d I tell you. You just needed a little confidence boost. That’s my man, the lady killer.”

I sigh and rub my temples. “It’s not hers,” I admit.

A short, confused pause follows. “Wait, a fake?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “She’s trying to set me up on a blind date with her coworker.”

There’s another pause, but this one is much more disappointed than anything. When I look up, Mark is pouring the last of his beer out onto the floor.

“What the hell?!” I exclaim.

“I’m pouring one out,” Mark says. “For your game. It died.”

I sigh. “Fuck you.”

“Listen, all I’m trying to do is help you. And you seem hell-bent on not letting that happen. How the fuck did the conversation go so wrong today? This is what you needed to do. See the woman, she walks up to you, smiles and does all that shit you probably love. You exchange pleasantries, then you get in there! Say, hey, I’d like to take you out sometime. Have you been bowling lately? I know a great place.”

“I don’t know a great place,” I say. “And I’m blaming this on you. The stupid ass bowling idea was in my head. No girl past the age of 15 wants to go bowling!”

“That’s what they want you to think,” he says, pointing. “I’m telling you. Works like a charm.”

“I’m not using it,” I say. “It’s a dumb idea. It wouldn’t have worked.”

“But you’ll never know, will you?” he taunts. “Instead you got the number of some…” He squints at the paper. “Jesus, this woman’s a doctor. Can’t read her writing. Mallory… Pies. You got the number of a woman with a bakery treat as a last name. Good going, Avery.”

I snatch the paper away from him. “I don’t think that was her name,” I say.

“So you’re gonna call her? Instead of Kepner, you’re going to call Pies and see where that gets you?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

I crumple up the paper and discard it in my empty beer glass. “No, I didn’t plan on it,” I say.

“So, what are you gonna do now?” Mark says. “Wait, let me guess. Give up.”

I shoot him a nasty look. “Maybe it’s just not the right time.”

“If you keep telling yourself that, it’ll never be the ‘right time,’” he points out.

“I just need to take a break for awhile,” I say, head in my open palm. “Today made me feel like shit.”

“You’re off your game, I understand,” he says. “That’s okay. You take your break, and when you come back, you’ll be better than ever.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe I’m just destined to grow old as a kindergarten teacher, taking a vow of celibacy. And I’ll die loveless and alone.”

Mark laughs. “Or that.”

** APRIL **

As I’m sitting in my office on Thursday after a jam-packed day, I get a call that breaks through the silence and makes me jump. I pick up the phone and tuck it between my shoulder and ear so I can continue working on paperwork as I get through whatever business call this is.

“April Kepner speaking,” I say, my eyes downcast.

“April, it’s Rachael.” My lawyer. Suddenly, my stomach twists and I sit up straight, placing 100% of my attention on the phone call instead of the the paperwork I’d been focusing on before.

“Rachael,” I breathe. Before the beginning of this week, I hadn’t heard from her in almost two years, not since mine and Matthew’s divorce was final. “Hi.”

“I’m sure you know why I’m calling,” she says, and her voice already sounds defeated. “I need to talk to you about the follow-up with Matthew’s push for joint custody.” We talked a few days ago about the preliminary measures that needed to be taken, and we took them. She put together all the evidence that we needed to prove our case and went to a hearing with it, a hearing that I couldn’t make because I had back-to-back emergency surgeries that day.

I sit forward on my chair. “Okay,” I say.

“Nothing has gone through,” she says. “Nothing substantial. I don’t want you to worry, at least not yet. He doesn’t have a great case at the moment.”

A little bit of weight is lifted off of me. I knew that. I can keep telling myself that with the grounds that my lawyer said it, too.

“But he is pushing for a case of PAS,” she says. “And because of that, he’s gotten the courts to grant him-”

“Wait, stop, stop,” I say, waving one hand in front of me. “PAS? What the hell is that?”

“Parental alienation syndrome,” she answers.

I can feel my face turning red. Suddenly, my sizeable office feels like it’s an inch wide and I’m suffocating. I stand up from my chair and walk from one window to another, on opposites sides of the room. I can’t stay still and listen to this.

“What does that mean?” I snap.

“In layman’s terms, it means that you’ve essentially brainwashed Alaina to hate her father. Talking bad about him in front of her, villainizing him, blaming him for everything that happened.”

“He should be blamed!” I blow up. “He’s the one who walked out on us to… to go live with that homewrecker!”

“You really can’t say things like that,” Rachael sighs. “That won’t help your case. You can’t even come close to admitting that you’ve said negative things about Matthew in Alaina’s presence. The fact that he brought this up has already granted him one night with her.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “Wait, what?” I ask. “What did you just say?”

“It didn’t come out to much. Matthew asked for time with Alaina. He convinced the judge that he hadn’t contacted you because he didn’t want to make things worse; that you had convinced Alaina that her father hates her.”

“I never-”

“I know,” she says. “But I’m just telling you what he said, what happened in the courtroom. He said he didn’t want to give you more tools to paint him in a bad light. That was his reasoning for his being absent for so long.”

“That's rich,” I say, shaking my head and raising my upper lip. “That’s… that’s…” I clench my fists as tightly as I can. “Of course. As if… I… he….” I let out a loud breath from my nose and shut my eyes. I can’t believe this is happening. “So what now?” I ask. “What’ll happen now?”

“He was awarded one night with her,” Rachael says. “I fought against it. He was asking for a week, and I got us down to a night. He apparently just wants to spend a little time with her alone; he wasn’t happy with the short amount of time, but I wouldn’t budge any further.”

“You shouldn’t have given him even that,” I snarl. “Why would you give him that?”

“We weren’t going to leave that courtroom without budging at least a little,” she snaps back. “That’s how things work in custody disputes. He has a clean record, he owns a home, has a career, on paper there is nothing wrong with him.”

“You and I both know-”

“I know what we know,” she says. “But what matters is how it looked to the judge. And Matthew’s case held up, the whole thing with the PAS. We got off easy, as far as custody battles go. I mean, it’s not done, but right now this is a small thing for him to ask.”

I stand in the middle of the room, practically radiating heat. “What night,” I say.

“Next week Friday,” she says. “He wants it arranged for him to pick her up after school and you can pick her up before noon on Saturday morning.”

I scoff. “It’s always about what he wants, isn’t it?” I ask. “That’s a little misogynistic, don’t you think? Why should he have any rights to the daughter that he left behind? Why is that even a thing? How come I don’t have any say in this whatsoever? I’ve raised this child for the past two years, all on my own. And it hasn’t been easy! And now he wants her? Now?”

I’m on the brink of tears as I’ve started pacing again. “You do have a voice,” Rachael says. “I’m telling you, it could be a lot worse. I did the best I could.”

“Okay,” I say suddenly. “Whatever. Call if anything else happens.” I hang up the phone and lean into my desk, my weight forward onto my hands. I hang my head and glance at the clock, seeing that it’s past 7 and I’ve once again, left Alaina too late at the school. “Damn it,” I say aloud, gathering my things as quickly as I can. Even if there’s absolutely no traffic, it’ll take me a little over twenty minutes to drive there, so I pick up my cell phone and call the number that was given to me on the signup sheet when Alaina first started going to after-school.

“Hey, April,” Jackson says right away, his voice easy and calm.

I let out a long breath. “Hey,” I say. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’m on my way right now, I’m on Congress just heading from the hospital.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “She’s asleep. I gave her a little bit of an extra snack and then she knocked out on some mats on the floor. You alright?”

“I’m…” I glance in my mirrors as I merge onto the highway. “Not exactly. I… I’m gonna get off the phone now, but I’ll be there in under twenty minutes. I promise.”

I drive as fast as I can to the school, racing the voice inside my head that's calling me an unfit parent. Once I pull up, I hurry out and take the stairs two at a time until I reach the cafeteria, where the after-school kids gather.

“I'm so sorry,” I pant once I make it through the doors.

He smiles. “It’s fine. I heard your heels coming from down the hall.” I rest one hand on the end of a long cafeteria table and let my chest deflate. I see Alaina tucked in the corner, curled up on a blue mat, sound asleep. “Long day?” I ask, nodding in her direction.

“Kickball,” he says. “How about you? You said you… you’re not okay? Is there something I can do?”

Feeling exhausted, I collapse onto the seat closest to me and put my head in my hands. My eyes feel hot like I’m about to cry, but I refuse to do that in front of Jackson. He’s Alaina’s teacher; he does need to know what just happened, but it feels weird to be telling him.And lately, it’s been hard to look at him as  _just_  her teacher. There’s always a bit of electricity between us when we talk; just a little too much smiling, arm touching, and maybe a little flirting. I never push it farther than he does, because I don’t want to be that person. I can’t imagine seeing him for the rest of the year after I tried to push him into something he definitely didn’t mean for. That’d be mortifying. He’s an extremely attractive man; I’m sure all the single mothers feel this way about him. I had wanted to make these feelings stop... that's why I gave him Maggie's number, which I feel incredibly stupid for doing now. He had seemed so uncomfortable. 

I have to remember that he’s Alaina’s teacher. There are things he needs to know about her home life.

“Are you sure you want to know?” I ask, laughing when we both know nothing’s funny.

“Yeah, I… I wanna know,” he says, sitting down across from me with his hands folded together.

“I won’t get into the long story,” I say. “But you know that Alaina’s father hasn’t been in her life for a couple years now.” He nods. “Well, now he suddenly wants her back. He got remarried, and his little idea of a family can’t be complete until all the pieces are in place. He’s fighting me for joint custody and he isn’t winning, but he did get granted one night with her.” I break our eye contact and watch my daughter sleeping a few feet away, so unknowing and innocent. “He gets what he wants, just like always. And I feel like he’s taking her away from me. He pushed for a case of parental alienation syndrome, saying that I basically brainwashed her into thinking that he’s a bad person.” I pause for a minute and scoff over how outlandish that is. “As if she couldn’t come to those terms on her own. He  _left_ us, I don’t know if you know that, for a bartender. Just walked out one day, decided he was done with us. And he’s…” I laugh and shake my head. “He wants to make me out to be the bad guy.”

Jackson is quiet, watching me after I’ve said my piece. “Jesus,” he says. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I say. “I just thought I was in the stage of getting over this. I thought we’d already,” I raise my hand like a mountain peak. “I thought we’d already hit here, and were coming down. But I guess not. When it happened, everyone from church thought they could help and wanted to be shoulders to cry on and everything like that, and I appreciate that, but… I’ve always felt pretty alone in raising her. She’s not easy. You know that. But I’ve done it. And now he wants to take that away from me.” I sigh. “I’m telling you this because his night with her is next Friday. I’m going to tell her about it this weekend, and I expect she’ll act out. She won’t want to go. She’s not going to be… a good kid this week, is my guess.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this to her.”

“It’s not your fault,” he tells me.

“It sure feels like it is,” I say, standing up. “I just need this day to end. I’m sorry for dumping that on you.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, craning his neck to watch me walk over to my daughter. “If you ever need someone to talk to…” He digs around in his pockets until he finds a sticky note, which he writes something down on. “I’m not kidding, you can call me. I’m not trying to be…” He shakes his head at himself. “Forward, or anything like that. You don’t ever have to use this if you don’t want to. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone, like you said. Because you’re not.”

I make lasting eye contact with him as I take the little blue piece of paper from his hand. “Thanks,” I say, and tuck it into my purse. “That…” I clear my throat. “That actually really means a lot to me.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, of course.”

I lean down to Alaina and run my hand over her shoulder to land on her side. “Wake up, little Lain. It’s time to go.”

She opens her eyes slowly, rubbing them as she blinks up at me. “Hi, mommy,” she says, and I pick her up to hold her on my chest. I smile at Jackson and walk past him to leave, saying, “Thanks for… everything. Staying with her. Listening to my shit. Giving me your number.”

“Again, you’re welcome,” he says. “Try to have a good night, okay?”

I give him a small nod and then walk out of the school with Alaina in my arms, sleepy against me, warm and happy before she knows the bad news that I do.

** JACKSON **

April was right. For the entirety of the following week, Alaina is hell on wheels. She doesn’t just act out, she’s an entirely different child. She’s past the level she was on when she first started school, somehow more malicious. She’s not just naughty, she’s behaving like a menace.

She’s obstinate; refusing to listen to even the simplest of directions. On Monday, she sat in the middle of the rug even after circle time was done and refused to come to her table for more than two hours. Of course I got frustrated with her, but because I knew the reason why she was behaving in such a way, it made it hard to discipline her.

Throughout the week, she was a bad influence on the other kids who normally don’t misbehave. Julia cut off a section of her own braid which made her cry after she realized what she’d done. Emily poured a tub of glue all over her table and didn’t tell anyone, she just put newspaper over it and the glue dried and created a substance that was hell for me to get off once everyone left for the day. And Alaina made Shelby cry by pushing her out of her chair when she asked for her glittery purple pencil back.

This week was nearly unbearable for me, so I can’t imagine how it was for April with Alaina at home. Not only does she have to deal with an unruly child, but also the fact of what’s coming on Friday night. The day has been lurking like a sleeping monster for me, too, so I know for them it must be much worse.

When class starts on Friday morning, Alaina comes in late. I make eye contact with April at the door as she tries to coax Alaina inside, and I see that her eyes are red and puffy with dark bags underneath them. She hardly looks like herself, and it takes me by surprise. It’s hitting her hard, even harder than I thought.

“Why don’t you come join us, Alaina?” I ask, trying to make my voice as friendly as I can.

“I don’t want to go to school!” she says, stomping her foot. “I don’t want to go to Daddy’s!”

“I have a daddy,” Mel pipes up from the front row, and Alaina casts her an evil look.

“I don’t like mine,” she spits, and April holds her by the shoulders.

“That’s enough now,” she says sternly. “Alaina Faith, listen to me. You have to go to school. Daddy will be here to pick you up regular time, no after-school today like usual Fridays. I’ll come and get you from his house tomorrow morning, I promise.”

Alaina grips her mother’s shoulders so tightly that the blood fades away from her little fingers and turns them paperwhite. “You’re gonna leave me there,” she squelches, wearing an expression on her face that I’ve never seen on a five-year-old before. “I said I never wanted to see him! And now I have to!”

April lets out a shaky breath and gives me a desperate look. “How about we let you have some cool-down time in the art corner,” I say, gently putting a hand between Alaina’s shoulder blades. “You can come join the rest of us for map-making when you feel like it. I just got some new squishy toys over there, I bet they can help you feel better.” Alaina looks up at me, her big blue eyes mistrusting and glistening. “What do you think?”

Her feet start moving slowly away from April, but she throws one last look over her shoulder at her mother, who’s still kneeling by the door. After Alaina sits, April stands up and gives her a small wave. “I love you, Lainey-Lou,” she says. “And I will be there to pick you up in the morning. I promise.”

Alaina doesn’t look up from the art table, now too deeply concentrated on the squishy toy she’s holding between her hands. April lets out a defeated sigh as she throws one last glance my way, and then leaves. Once she’s gone, the rest of the class stares at me in wonder, but I go on like nothing happened.

The day passes insanely slowly. Alaina cries during lunch for seemingly meaningless reasons; she couldn’t get her milk carton open, her shoe came untied, her pizza crust was too hard, but of course I know the real reason why she’s so upset. It’s breaking my heart to watch her go through the day while knowing what’s coming at the end of it. I wish I could stop it from happening somehow, but I know I can’t. There’s nothing I can do or say, especially since she’s only five. She doesn’t understand what she’s feeling enough to talk about it with me.

When the end of the day comes, I stand outside with my students as their parents come by and take them for the weekend. Alaina stays plastered to my side, scanning the crowd silently. It’s strange for me not to hear her voice - usually she’s the chattiest one of the bunch - but not today. She’s leaning almost her entire body weight against my leg, sucking on a strap hanging down from her backpack, as her eyes fervently scan the parents.

Almost all of the kids have been picked up by the time he finally shows up. Alaina lets out a little whimper when she sees him and pushes herself closer to me, if at all possible. I stand up straighter and meet his eyes as he walks up to us, smiling robotically at his daughter. I see no resemblance in looks; nothing except the dark blue eyes.

“Hey, Alaina!” he says, his voice loud and booming. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

With the backpack strap still in her mouth, she looks up at me desperately. I don’t know what I can do to help her; I feel totally at a loss. “Is this your dad?” I ask as gently as I can. She nods slightly, but won’t look at him. Only at me. “I think you gotta go with him.”

“Don’t make it sound like such torture!” he says, reaching for her hand. Once his fingers close around hers, she rips her hand out of his grasp and tucks it into her chest. “Alright, you don’t have to hold my hand. But we do have to go, okay? I have someone in the car who’d really like to meet you.” She doesn’t ask who, so he just tells her. “Me and Leah got something for you. A puppy!”

She mutters what comes next almost unintelligibly, but I understand her. “I don’t like dogs,” she says.

“What was that?” he says. “You’re mumblin’, kiddo.”

“She said she doesn’t like dogs,” I say, clearing my throat and trying to be amicable. I’m finding it extremely hard, though. I wish I could keep her here. I don’t want to let her go with him.

“Oh, well that’ll change,” he says. “And you must be Mr. Avery, so I hear,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Matthew Taylor. Alaina's father.”

I shake his hand once and then put mine back at my side. I don’t have any words to offer him, so I don’t speak at all. I’m about to start peeling Alaina off my leg when I hear a familiar voice come through the gate to our left, saying, “You’re probably scaring her.”

I look over and see April walking towards us, wearing jeans, flats and a flowery blouse. She’s tried to cover up her dark circles with eye makeup, but it’s not doing much good. She looks like this day has weighed heavy on her, too.

“Mommy,” Alaina says softly, detaching herself from my leg to run past Matthew to her mother. She tightens her arms around April’s waist and buries her face in her stomach, refusing to look at her father who stands just a few feet in front of them.

I have no choice but to stay and watch the interaction; I still have three kids who are waiting to be picked up. Strained eye contact occurs between the mother and father of the suffering little girl between them, and a long moment passes where neither of them speak. April’s skin has flushed pink and her eyes are glassy, and I can only see the back of Matthew’s head so I can’t read his expression.

“Are you really gonna do this,” April says, glancing down at Alaina who’s still hiding her face. “When this is how she reacts to you. Are you really gonna do this to her?”

“You’re making it worse,” he says, taking a step closer to her. “Why are you here? I told you I would pick her up.”

April lifts her arm, and I notice a duffel bag that I hadn’t seen before. “She forgot her overnight things in the car this morning,” she says simply.

“You’re kidding me,” Matthew laughs. “As if that wasn’t on purpose. You really can’t handle being without control for a single night.”

She shakes her head. “The fact that you think this is about control…”

“Alaina, come on,” he says, pepping up his voice. “We’re gonna go have pizza and ice cream, and then have a movie night! Doesn’t that sound fun? You can pick out any movie you want. I think that sounds awesome.”

I see the back of Alaina’s head shake and April presses her fingertips to it. The last kid by my side just went off with his grandpa, so I really have no reason to be out here anymore. In fact, I should go inside to get the after-school kids together for our program, but I can’t seem to tear myself away from this.

“That puppy wants to see you…” Matthew continues.

“Puppy?” April says, narrowing her eyes. “She’s afraid of dogs. She got bitten last year.”

“It’s just a puppy,” Matthew says to her. “She wants to meet you!”

I realize I shouldn't be watching this anymore. April and I make brief eye contact, but I flit my gaze away before it can last long then retreat inside to finish my job out for the week. My heart sinks once the doors close behind me; the closest thing that I can equate that interaction to is torture.

** APRIL **

I watch Alaina’s face as she presses it to the window as Matthew’s SUV drives away, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I had to practically peel her body off of mine to get her into that car, and I felt like I was sending my unwilling child off to war or something equally as terrible. This was cruel. This was a cruel thing to not only ask of me, but of her. She’s not a baby. She should have choices as to where she goes.

I sit on the steps in front of the school and stare ahead at the light cement, watching a trail of ants crawl through a crack past some weeds. I feel empty and numb. This is the first night I’ve ever gone home without my daughter, and everything about it feels very, very wrong.

But I get up. I don’t know how long I sit there, but I do get up eventually and head to my car. I sit in the driver’s seat for a good long while and glance in the rearview mirror out of habit, only to see an empty booster seat where she should be sitting.

“Goddammit,” I say aloud, and plunk my forehead down on the steering wheel. This should not be happening. My heart feels like it’s been scooped out to leave a ragged, bloody cavern in its place, and I hate knowing that Alaina is somewhere that she doesn’t want to be. It’s not right. None of this is right.

I drive home in a fog, not listening to anything on the radio. When I get home, I flick all the lights on and leave them that way. Being alone in this house makes me feel insecure and vulnerable, even though when Alaina’s here, I’m both of our protectors. But being alone feels different. It feels like something is missing; the biggest part of me is gone. And what’s worse is that she’s not only gone, it’s that I know she’s suffering.

I know I won't be able to stomach anything, so I don't even bother with making myself dinner. I stand in the middle of the kitchen staring ahead, wishing I had someone else here with me. Wishing I wasn't so alone.

I pour a very tall glass of wine, something I rarely treat myself to anymore. I sit on the brown armchair in the living room - the one that Alaina loves to jump on no matter how many times I tell her not to - and drain my glass within minutes. I don't wait long before pouring another one; I think alcohol is the only thing that's going to help me get through this night from hell.

I pull out my phone around 8pm and give into my urge to text Matthew.

 **SENT: 8:04pm-**  hi. how is she? Can I talk to her?

 **RECEIVED: 8:10pm-**  she's asleep

 **SENT: 8:10pm-**  can you send me a picture please??

 **RECEIVED: 8:13pm-**  Jesus April.

He gets mad, but does send me a picture. Alaina is curled up in a bed with fluffy, white covers with her thumb in her mouth. I gasp a little bit; she hasn't sucked her thumb since she was a baby. She must’ve been searching so hard for something comforting, and that was the instinctive thing her brain went for.

 **SENT: 8:16pm-**  thanks

I drain another glass of wine and stare at the black TV. I debate turning it on, but know I won't be able to focus on anything, so I leave it off and drink a third glass of wine. My brain is starting to feel fuzzy now, which is a feeling that's not necessarily unwelcome. I need it in a time like this. It's making the edges around this night a little less sharp.

When the bottle is gone, I'm a little lightheaded and a lot lonely. I pull out my phone and think about calling Arizona, but I know I don't really want that. She's a good listener and sometimes her advice is alright, but her presence isn't comforting. I want someone who will make me feel safe, who I can spend time with in this big house and make the time pass faster.

No one at the hospital counts as one of my close friends. Weirdly enough, right now I'd count my closest friend as Jackson.

How sad is that. The only person who I want to see right now is my daughter’s kindergarten teacher. Maybe I want to see him because the thing we have in common is Alaina. I tell myself that yes, that is the reason I want him over here. The only reason. Nothing more.

I pull out the blue sticky note from where I've tucked it into my wallet and smooth it out on my leg. I dial the number with nerves jumping in my stomach, and lift the phone to my ear to listen as it rings.

It doesn't take him long to pick up, but he sounds confused and businesslike. “Uh, hello?”

“Hey, Jackson,” I say, finding a smile inching its way onto my lips. “It's April.”

“Oh,” he says, his voice lighting up with recognition. “Hey, April. What's up?”

“I'm sitting here alone in my stupid big house,” I say, my lips way too loose. I'm tipsy. I don't know if I should be on the phone with him, but my conscience’s voice is very, very quiet in comparison to the voice of that bottle of wine I just downed. “And I hate it. Do you want to come over?”


	5. Chapter 5

** APRIL **

I give Jackson our address and plug my phone into the speakers on the kitchen counter, playing some ready-made Spotify playlist for background music. I look at myself in the hall mirror and run my fingers through my auburn hair to fluff it, deciding that I should touch up my makeup before he gets here.

I hurry up to my bathroom and put on a little concealer, a tiny bit of blush, and reapply my mascara and lip color before I hear the doorbell ring. I take a deep breath at the top of the stairs and blink my eyes open wide, wondering why I care this much about how I look. I want him over here for support, not to judge a beauty contest.

I grip the railing of the staircase with both hands on the way down, finding that my house has started to spin after that bottle of wine. I make it to the door without falling, though, and smile when I open it. “Hey, Jackson,” I say. “Come in.”

He looks around shyly as I open the door, then steps inside. “Do you want my shoes off, or…?”

“Yeah, you can,” I say. “Right here’s fine.”

Standing in front of him in the foyer, I suddenly feel awkward. Was this a mistake? Should I not have invited him here?

“Nice place,” he says, putting his shoes where I directed. He hangs his coat on the hooks in the entryway and we stand across from each other for a second without any words exchanged, just making strained eye contact. “I brought you this,” he says, finally putting words between us as he shows me a bottle of wine that couldn’t have been cheap.

I take it from him and smile politely, leading the way into the kitchen. “Thanks,” I say, and stand in front of the empty bottle that I had discarded into the sink. I pop open the one he brought and pour him a glass, then put the lip of the bottle to my mouth and start chugging it as he takes a small sip.

I’m not sure what comes over me exactly, but it had seemed like a good idea. When I come up for air, a little more than half the bottle is gone and Jackson is looking at me with wide blue eyes. “Damn,” he says, and takes another sip of his own. “I hadn’t pegged you for…” He doesn’t finish his thought.

All the alcohol in my system has bolstered my confidence, to say the least. “You should see what I can do with a dick,” I say, and surprise even myself.

He laughs, eyebrows raised with an amused smile on his face. “Uh, what?”

“What?” I repeat, eyes wide and a bit manic. “Who said that?”

We both crack up laughing, eyes squinted closed without even trying to keep our volume at a reasonable level. I’m gasping for breath by the time I stand up straight again, and he’s dabbing at the corners of his eyes.

When there’s a beat of silence, my face turns red as I go over what I just said. “I’m sorry I said that…” I say, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t usually say stuff like that. I’m not inappropriate, I swear. That’s so embarrassing, I- god, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

I let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry for asking you here, I’m sorry if it was weird… I didn’t mean for it to be,” I say. “With my job, it’s hard for me to make any friends in this godforsaken city. The only person I feel as comfortable as I feel with you is my ex-nanny, Ellie, and…” I chuckle darkly. “It’d be even more inappropriate if I wanted to kiss her like I want to kiss you.”

The silence that falls between is so charged that I feel it across my entire body. I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and let out a long breath. “Fuck,” I say, curse-words flying out easier with my inebriated state. I hardly ever drop words like that unless I’m drunk, which has obviously proven to be the case. “I really didn’t mean to say that.” I push myself away from the counter where I’d been leaning across from where he sits at the breakfast bar, and step in the direction of the front door. “I’m sure you wanna leave now. I’ll just… I’ll walk you out.”

But he doesn’t follow me. I look over my shoulder to see that he’s still sitting in the same spot, unmoving, with an unreadable expression on his face. I pause where I’m standing and eye him, then he asks, “You wanna kiss me?’

I walk closer to him and he gets up off the stool. I lean against the counter and he walks around it to stand in front of me, just far enough way so we’re not touching. “Well, yeah…” I breathe, feeling my body respond to his closeness. My thighs are clenched and my heart is racing a mile a minute. “But obviously we can’t, because-”

He doesn’t let me finish my sentence, because suddenly his lips are pressed to mine and he’s kissing me in a way I’ve never been kissed before in my life. It steals the breath from me when he opens his lips and pushes his tongue inside my mouth, exploring with fervent breaths and urgent movements of his hands on my waist.

“Fuck,” he breathes when he pulls away, and I look up at him with eyes on fire. I dive back into him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he tilts his hips against mine to trap me against the countertop roughly, and I can feel his hard-on through his jeans pressed up against my thigh.

I moan and throw my head back as he trails kisses from the corner of my mouth, down my jaw, to the pulse point on my neck, where he spends ample time. His hands drift down my sides where my shirt has ridden up, and his fingers ghost over my skin just enough to give me goosebumps. “Do you want me to take your shirt off?” he whispers, lips moving against my neck.

I nod and lift my arms above my head, and my shirt comes off quickly then gets thrown to the floor. Once I just have a bra on my top half, he wraps his arms around my waist again and I press myself hard against him, undulating my hips against his pelvis in search of some friction. I whimper with my mouth open against his as his hands look for someplace new to land, and he asks, “Can I touch you?” with one hand begging to crawl up my torso to my chest.

I let out an exasperated breath and take his face in my hands so he’s looking right into my eyes. “I want you, okay?” I pant. “Do I need to prove it? Because I will.”

I spin him around by his shoulders so he’s the one leaning back against the counter. I skim my hands down his torso and pull his shirt off, kicking it to the side before fluidly undoing his belt buckle so his pants sag a little bit and his hands hurry to my shoulders.

“April, you don’t have to-”

“Stop,” I say, and sink to my knees. “I want to.” I yank his pants down and follow with his boxers, looking up at him through my eyelashes as I do so. I already knew he was hard before I came down here, still I can’t help but grin when he springs free of the fabric and is on full display for me. I had expected that he’d be well-endowed, but even thinking that was underestimating him. I’ve only seen one other penis in my life, Matthew’s, and it was nothing compared to Jackson’s. Absolutely nothing.

I never liked going down on Matthew; I avoided it at all costs if I could help it. So I’m not sure what’s come over me now with my being about to blow Jackson, but I really want to. An urge washed over me and I wasn’t about to force it away - I’m so attracted to him that I can’t see straight, and I want to make him feel good.

I take the head of his penis in my mouth and instantly I feel his hand on the back of my hair. I take more of him and flatten my tongue against the bottom of his shaft, raking my fingernails down the front of his hips as I go, then pulling off while creating suction with my lips. As I come up for breath, I press four kisses down the length of him while keeping steady eye contact, and he smiles down at me with a heady gaze. I’ve got him in the palm of my hand, quite literally, and I know it.

I reach underneath and graze his balls with my fingertips, which makes his pelvis jolt forward as he moans through pinched lips. I part mine and swirl my tongue over his head, turning my wrist as my fingers wrap around the shaft to pump him slowly, using my own saliva as lubrication. “Fuck,” he breathes, hips twitching again.

“You’re bigger than I thought,” I say, my lips moving against the head. “I mean, I figured you were big, but…this is…” I chuckle and cross my ankles under my butt. “You’re very well-endowed.”

He half-smiles. “I don’t wanna say I know,” he says. “But I know.”

I hollow out my cheeks when I take him in my mouth again, though the entirety of it won’t fit and my gag reflex is sensitive, so I don’t force it. I take as much as I can and his grip on my hair tightens as he pushes my head down. I use one hand to grip him with, twisting as I go, and the other stays holding the countertop.

“God, you’re fucking amazing,” he groans, looking down at me. “I’m gonna come soon, you-you might wanna…”

I run my fingernails up his thighs and move my mouth away with an audible ‘pop,’ then finish him off with my hand. When he comes, it gets on my hand, neck, and shoulders, and all I can do is stare at him from the ground, his shoulders heaving and face turned up towards the ceiling. “Shit,” he breathes, then glances down at me. “Oh, god. God, hold on.” He turns to the side and grabs a slew of paper towels, which he wets down and cleans me up with.

I giggle. “Thanks,” I say, then stand up to my full height again and ravage him with kisses. I feel him start to get hard again almost instantly, which makes me smile against his lips with pride. “I have a bedroom, you know,” I say, pulling away to look deeply into his eyes. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He pulls his pants back up, but we leave our shirts on the kitchen floor and hurry up the stairs. I turn the light on its dimmest setting inside my room and shut the door out of habit, and he instantly takes me in his arms and pushes me up against the wall with such force that it makes me gasp. While his lips are attached to mine, he works on getting my pants off and onto the floor, then lifts my legs to encircle his hips.

“Mm, Jackson,” I say, a bit surprised while still kissing him. His arms are locked tight around my waist; that is, until we get to my bed. He plops me down on it and shucks off his pants, joining me in just my underthings, and crawls onto the mattress. I’m lying sideways but it’s a king-sized bed, so my feet don’t even hang off as he kisses up my ankles, my shins, my knees, then my inner thighs.

He flattens his palm between my legs, and I feel heat pool there because of it as I trap his hand. He dips his fingers inside the waistband of my sky blue underwear and pulls downward, exposing me for the first time before pulling them the rest of the way off. I run my top teeth over my lower lip as he pushes my thighs apart and kisses the soft insides of them, opening his mouth to run his tongue near the most sensitive part of my body.

He kisses below my bellybutton, lingering there to graze his teeth over my tingling skin and to look up at me with eyes that are almost black in color. He presses his lips lower, his tongue running over the very center of me, before I prop myself up on my elbows. “You don’t have to,” I say quickly, but my head is spinning. Words can’t express how badly I want him to, but Matthew always hated it.

“What?” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against my stomach. “Why?”

“I… I didn’t go down on you because I expected you to return the favor,” I say, hearing myself slur the words a little bit.

“Why wouldn’t I want to?” he asks. “Unless you have something against it, this has been something I’ve been thinking about doing for awhile.”

He’s trying to kill me. I collapse onto my back again and rest my arms above my head, loose and lazy, as I say, “You’ve thought about it?”

“Mm-hmm,” he says, and pushes his tongue inside me as the warmth of his mouth floods between my thighs.

My eyes fly open and I take a big breath in. He’s going so slowly, but each movement is thought-out and precise; from the way he’s moving his tongue to the way his fingernails are scratching up the outsides of my hips.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice coming out as more of a breathless whisper than anything else.

“I thought of all the ways I wanted to touch you,” he says, lips hot against the point of my hipbone. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d look like when you come.”

I close my eyes and let out a shaky breath. His voice sounds so sexy, gravelly and lower in pitch than it usually is when he speaks, and I can’t get enough of it.

“I thought about how tight you’d feel wrapped around me,” he continues, and by now my legs are quivering. “And how your pretty little mouth would look wrapped around my dick… just never thought it would actually happen.” With those last words, he connects with my core again and sucks the electric bundle of nerves into his mouth, lapping at them with his tongue once I let out a soft whimper.

It’s happening. I haven’t had an orgasm for...a really, really long time, and Jackson is about to give me one. And by the way my groin is tightening, I can tell that it’s going to be huge.

He pushes two fingers inside me and grazes his teeth over the same spot he’d been sucking on, which pushes me over the edge. The feeling ripples through my body and I squirm like crazy, doing everything in my power to try and crawl out of my own body, but he doesn’t let me move. He holds me in place, mouth still working between my legs with his hands anchored on my hips, as my top half writhes and turns above him. I can’t control the noises escaping me; in fact, I barely register them as my own. I hear desperate-sounding animalistic moans and whimpers, then feel him smiling against me.

He puckers his lips and blows a stream of cool air between my legs, which makes my groin tense all over again. As my eyes are closed and I’m attempting to catch my breath, his lips are attached to my inner thigh until he removes them with a wet, popping sound. He traces the spot with his finger and I hear him chuckle, so I reach down to touch it, too. I feel teeth-marks and it’s sensitive when I press against it.

“Did you just give me a hickey?” I ask.

“Mm-hmm,” he says, working his way back up my body. He pauses between my ribcage and pushes his arm beneath my back to undo the clasp of my bra. “Why is this still on?” he murmurs, and I sit up a little bit so we can discard it.

Once it’s gone, he kisses the swell of my breast and then lower, capturing my nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around the center of it while resting his hand on the other side. I can feel his erection pressing insistently against my still-throbbing core, and I want it. I need this to happen.

I reach between us and direct him where I want, and he makes a small noise against my chest. “Oh,” he says, “You ready?”

“I’ve been ready,” I say, and can’t help the wild smile that breaks its way onto my face.

“Your dimple’s popping,” he says, touching it gently with his fingertip.

“Stop,” I say. “It does that when I smile.”

“Only when you smile really big,” he says softly. “Like right now.”

I bite the middle of my lower lip to try and keep a straight face. “Stop,” I say, blushing and smacking his shoulder.

He presses his lips to mine and I hold the sides of his head as he does so, running my fingers gently behind his ears and over the nape of his neck as he moves one knee to straddle me.

“One thing,” I breathe, pulling apart from him and panting. “I haven’t had sex in a long time.”

“Oh,” he says. “Do you want to take it slow?”

I shake my head. “Not really,” I smile.

“Okay,” he says, but then something flashes across his eyes. “Wait. Shit. I didn’t… I don’t have a condom.”

And I’m not on the pill; I have no reason to be. “I might… let me check.” I reach behind me into the nightstand drawer, but come up with nothing except my Bible, dental floss and a phone charger. “Hold on. The bathroom,” I say, slipping out from underneath him to walk to the bathroom that’s attached to my room.

Completely naked, I tear apart the medicine cabinets until I find what I’m looking for. A half-used box of Magnum condoms that I can’t even remember using last, and I’m not exactly sure if they have an expiration date or something like that, but at least they’re something. “Got it,” I say, flicking the light back off.

“You have a cute ass,” he says once I’m back on the bed.

“Shut up,” I say, ripping open the packaging. “Lay back. I’m gonna put this on you.”

He does as I instruct and lays on his back with his hands supporting his head. His body really is amazing; for the first time I let my eyes graze over the hard muscles in his chest and abdomen, and pause for a copious amount of time at the V in his hips. He’s fully hard again, but the condom doesn’t necessarily go on easily - I don’t think that he and Matthew wear the same size. It’s a tight fit, but it doesn’t tear, so we both deem it acceptable.

“Not to bring him up,” he says, pulling my body overtop of his. “But your ex wasn’t packing, was he?”

I giggle against his mouth, my hands on his neck and chest. “No,” I admit, then sink down onto him. “Oh, my god,” I say, as I grow accustomed to the way he feels. I can feel every single inch of him filling me, and I bow my knees out wider to accommodate his size.

“You okay?” he asks, eyes searching mine.

I lean forward with my hands braced on his chest, fingers bent slightly. “Yeah,” I breathe, still situating. “Stop being cocky.”

He chuckles. “I wasn’t,” he says. “I swear. I was really asking.”

“I just need…” I move my hips and sparks light up behind my eyelids. “A minute to...”

“Understandable,” he says. “It’s a lot to take.”

“Shut up,” I laugh, and swivel my pelvis in a circle. His hands fly up from the mattress to vice-grip my hips, his thumbs digging into the points of my bones at the front as I start to move more rhythmically on top of him.

We find a good groove after a while and I feel the top half of my body flushing with exertion, and he can tell. In one fluid motion, he flips us over so he’s on top and I’m pressed tight underneath him, one of his arms supporting my knee.

I arch my back and gasp as he thrusts against me, my back scooting up on the mattress with the amount of force he puts behind it. He buries his face in my neck as he pumps his hips against mine, bracing one arm on the mattress next to my head and using the other to palm my breast until I’m about to have another orgasm.

“I’m close,” I pant urgently. “Say something. Anything. I’m so close.”

He hums low in his throat, which I feel reverberate throughout the top half of my body. “C’mon, babe,” he murmurs, kissing my lips sloppily and moving down to my chin and jaw. “Come for me. You know you…” He reaches between my legs and tweaks just the right spot and my eyelashes flutter with the onset of what we both knew would happen.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god,” I moan, tossing my head to one side. He comes shortly after me, thrusting erratically as I’ve started to come down from mine.

When we’re both finished, he kisses my sweaty chest as a punctuating remark and rolls off to lie next to me. We’ve somehow turned the right way on the bed, not sideways anymore, just lying next to each other with heaving, sweaty chests and swimming minds. I know mine is, at least, as best it can through the wine cloudiness.

“You called me babe,” I say, wiping the perspiration off of my forehead with my palm.

“I know, I-I’m sorry, it just came out,” he says.

I smile to myself. “It was okay,” I say. “I, um, I didn’t mind it.”

“Okay.”

I mean to get up, clean myself and get into pajamas, but I’m so spent that I don’t think I can move a muscle right now. I’m not sure if he plans on staying over or if he wants to leave, but I can’t keep my eyes open long enough to ask. I fall asleep, completely naked, on the same bed as Alaina’s kindergarten teacher.

I wake up in the morning in a different position than I had fallen asleep in; I had expected to be cold with no clothes on, but I’m not. Actually, I’m pretty warm. Without opening my eyes I take notice of my surroundings; I’m under the covers now instead of on top of them, still as nude as ever, but there’s a body close to me. More than close to me, actually, I’m wrapped up in it as close as I could possibly be. My head is on his chest, my arm resting on his belly, one of my legs hooked to one of his as he lies on his back with an arm around my shoulders.

I blink slowly, my eyes feeling heavy and weighted down. My gaze flicks up to the face mere centimeters away from mine and the entirety of last night comes rushing back, only helped by the soreness I feel pulsing from between my legs.

It’s Jackson. And he stayed.

I start to breathe a little heavier, tempted to pull away from him because of what I’ve done. I shouldn’t have invited him here, this was a mistake, and he’s going to realize it when he wakes up. I had such feelings for him; I still do, watching him lie here asleep without a worry in the world. I shouldn’t have brought our first meaningful interaction about like this. I know he’s going to regret it. I feel like a horrible person.

I fidget a little bit, feeling self-conscious about my lack of clothing for the first time. Literally every part of my body is touching him, and I don’t hate it. In fact, I really like it. But it still feels wrong for some reason - I feel like I took advantage of him.

He wakes up a few moments later as I’m chewing on my lower lip, worrying enough for the both of us. I dart my eyes up to him with a concerned expression, but all he’s doing is smiling. “Hey,” he says sleepily. He leans over, takes my jaw in his hand, and kisses me sweetly. “Is this…? Can I do this, is it-”

A smile breaks onto my face and I don’t let him finish before I kiss him again. All of those bad feelings have suddenly washed away. “Yes,” I answer, my neck craned so we’re nose-to-nose. I lift one arm out from under the covers and touch his cheek softly, running my fingers down his faint facial hair before pressing sleepy kisses to his chest. The sun is barely up; I know it’s early, and I’m not really sure why we’re both awake.

But we are, and my heart is about to burst through my chest if it beats any harder.

“What time is it?” he asks, arm tightening around me.

I push myself up with a hand on his chest to look at the clock. “Not even 7,” I say.

“What time does Alaina wake up?”

My heart sinks and my stomach feels instantly upset. “A little past 8,” I say. “I was planning on getting there by 8:30.”

He nods. “If you don’t wanna talk about it, it’s fine, but how did it go… getting her to go with him?”

“Bad,” I answer, and a sour taste appears in my mouth. “It just feels so unfair. She’s five years old, she’s not an infant. She has her own feelings and opinions. The court shouldn’t be forcing her to spend time with someone who she doesn’t feel comfortable with.”

“Do you think he’d ever do anything to hurt her?” he asks.

I shake my head, my cheek squishing against his shoulder. “No,” I say. “But I just hate him with her. I hate that he thinks he can still be her father, magically, suddenly now he’s back. With a puppy.” I shake my head. “He doesn’t know her. This shouldn’t have ever happened.”

It dawns on me that I haven’t cried about it yet. Maybe I won’t. I feel too angry to cry.

“Maybe this’ll be the only time,” he encourages. “Maybe she’ll never have to go back there again.”

“I hope you’re right,” I say. “I just feel like I’ve let her down. I’ve been the most horrible mother lately. I just feel so guilty for the amount of stress she’s had to shoulder at five years old.” I sigh. “At this rate, she’s going to need therapy, too.” As I say those words, I realize that I missed my therapy appointment last night.

“Have you ever seriously thought about that?” he asks.

I shrug. “Once in awhile,” I say. “She used to talk to someone, back when it first happened. But it just stopped working. If I got her a counselor, it’d have to be just the right person.” I sigh. “I’ll look into it.”

“That wasn’t a request or anything, I just-”

“No, I appreciate it,” I say, flattening my hand between his pecs and looking up at him through my eyelashes. “You caring means a lot.”

I tease my fingertips lower on his abdomen until they disappear beneath the covers and feel for the V in his hips. I trace it and make sure the length of my body is pressed up against him, and he tightens his grasp on my shoulder and makes a low sound in his throat as I skim his penis.

“Last night was really great,” I whisper, solidifying my grip on him and moving my hand up and down slowly.

“Holy shit, where did you come from,” he says, eyelids fluttering.

Taking advantage of his closed eyes, I quickly slip beneath the covers and take him in my mouth before he can even grasp what I’m doing. He was already half-hard and it doesn’t take long before he’s all the way there, and I hear him groan when I laugh with my mouth wrapped around him. When he comes, I let most of it go into my mouth, but in the dark under the suffocating blanket it’s hard to tell if any made it elsewhere.

When I come back up, I inhale dramatically and he cracks up laughing. “What?” I ask, furiously petting down my hair.

“The hair, mostly,” he says. “And… um, you have…”

He takes his thumb and wipes the corner of my mouth, then looks confused as to where to discard what he’s cleaned off me. He looks down at the comforter, and I shake my head and shrug. “Might as well,” I say. “It needs to be washed anyway.”

He rubs his thumb on the blanket, then I push the covers back so I can straddle his waist - one hand on either side of his head on the pillow. I capture his lips and his fingers ghost over my ribs, and he moans into my mouth as I grind my hips against his lower torso.

“Mm, April,” he says, pulling away from me. When I look at his face, I see that his forehead is creased and his eyebrows are furrowed together with concern.

“What?” I nearly snap.

He widens his eyes. “I don’t want you to keep fucking me just to try and forget about what’s happening,” he says, and I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched.

I take his lips again, though, tilting my head to open my mouth against his at an angle. “Well, therapy didn’t work,” I say when I come up for air.

“I don’t think you went,” he says, pushing me away by my waist. “You said Fridays were your days.”

I worry the inside of my lower lip with my teeth. “Yeah? And?” I say. I let out an angry sigh. “This is making me feel good. Is there something wrong with that?” I glance at the clock. “I know it’s not healthy. I never said it was. I just… I want to feel good. When something feels this good, it can’t be bad, right?”

He studies me, those blue eyes roving all over my face. “If you wanna talk-”

“I really don’t,” I say, feeling his hands on my shoulder blades as I kiss his neck and chest. “I want you, okay?” I cover one of his nipples with my mouth and hear a small gust of air come from his nose as I do so. I drag my teeth over it with a smile and push the covers off of his lap, pulling my lips away from him only to reach to the end of the bed where the box of condoms ended up. I clumsily open one and put it on him carefully, chuckling to myself as I say, “We really need to buy a new box if this is gonna be a thing.”

“A thing?” he asks, kneading my hips as I lower myself down onto him and drop my chin to my chest.

“Yeah,” I breathe, rocking my hips forward.

His eyes linger at the place where we’re joined, then work the rest of the way up my body to lock on my eyes. “Is it?’ he asks.

“What,” I say, scratching at his chest as I arch my back.

“Gonna be a thing?” he clarifies.

I bend at the waist so our torsos are lined up, bare skin on bare skin with no gaps. I hold his head and kiss him, feeling his hand smoothing over the back of my hair as our mouths are connected. “Yeah,” I say, kissing the corner of his mouth and his chin before sitting up straight again.

His hands glide up my torso to land on my breasts, which he covers easily and tweaks my nipples with his thumbs as I oscillate my pelvis on top of his, trying to find just the right spot to hit. It’s not as easy to find when I’m on top, but once I do find it - my orgasm will be clearer and last longer.

I work at it for a while but start to get frustrated, and Jackson must be able to tell, too. He grips my sides and lifts me off of him, and my body flops on the bed next to him in frustrated exhaustion.

“I was going to keep trying,” I say. “I don’t know why I-”

He spreads my legs and kisses my core with his eyes closed, and my body jolts. “You’re tired,” he says. “We barely got any sleep.” I run my hand through my hair and watch him work; his big, sturdy hands on my thighs, keeping them separate, and his lips moving slowly and lazily with his tongue inside me. “But don’t worry, I’ll get you there.”

Of course he does, and it doesn’t take him long at all. I’m panting once I come down from the orgasm he gave me, and he draws a path of kisses up to my chin from between my legs. “You’re gorgeous when you come, April,” he says.

“Stop,” I say breathily, one hand on his collarbone as he kisses my neck. “I need to shower and get ready to go.”

“I know,” he says, drawing gentle circles around one of my nipples, which makes it stand on end as my whole body gets flooded with chills. “I’ll let you do that.”

He rolls off of me and I turn my head to look at him, mostly admiring the artwork that is his body. He’s lying here looking at me with one arm strewn over his head and a small, sweet smile on his lips. “What?” I ask, placing my feet on the floor.

“Nothing,” he says.

I walk towards the bathroom and look back out with my hands on the doorjamb. “If you want to shower here, you can,” I say.

“That’s okay,” he says, finding his underwear. “I should get home and get ready for soccer later. I can just get cleaned up there.”

I feel a little disappointed; that was definitely a hint to join me in the shower. I’m pretty sure he knew that, too.

“I don’t want to hold you back from Alaina,” he says. “I know if I get in that shower with you…” he trails off, reading my mind.

“I know,” I say. “You’re right, I know. I need to get over there. I don’t know, I just thought-”

“It’s not like I’m not gonna see you,” he says, pulling on his jeans and walking over to give me a kiss. “I’ll see you in a few hours, on the field. Maybe we can have sex there.”

I widen my eyes sarcastically. “Oh, yeah, definitely. Sounds perfect. Even sexier - the outhouse by the parking lot.”

“Yes,” he says, laughing. “That’s my dream.”

I go and turn the water on and he comes into the bathroom a few minutes later, just as I’m getting in. “Do you know where my shirt is?” he asks. “I can’t find it on the floor.”

“Downstairs,” I say, one leg under the water. “In the kitchen. We left them down there.”

“Oh, right,” he says.

“You leaving then?” I ask, still halfway in the shower.

“Yeah,” he says, so I step fully out of the water and walk over to him. He takes my face in his hands and gives me a long kiss, sucking on my lower lip so languidly that it makes me stand on tiptoe to get closer to him.

“Okay,” I say, gently tapping his chest with my fingertips. “If you don’t go now, you never will.”

He chuckles and backs away from me, and I get into the shower. “See you later,” he calls.

“Bye, Jackson,” I say, a smile still on my face though he can’t see it.

***

I twist the steering wheel nervously as I drive over to Matthew’s house. I’m definitely going over the speed limit, but I don’t care. I just want to get there and save Alaina as fast as I can.

When I cruise into the driveway, my heart breaks instantly. She’s right there, waiting on the top step by the front door with her overnight bag at her side and her chin rested in her palms. When I pull up, she stands up right away and hurries down the stairs, flying into my arms once I’m out of the car - not even giving me a chance to close my door.

“Baby,” I say, burying my face in her unbrushed hair. “Hi, honey. Hi. I missed you.”

She doesn’t say a word, she just clings to me as tightly as she can.

“Where’s Daddy?” I ask, but before she can answer, he comes out of the house with Leah at his side. Seeing that I’ve arrived, he picks up the overnight bag and comes to put it in the trunk of my car.

“How is she?” I ask Matthew, still clutching my daughter. Her legs are wrapped like vices around my waist and she’s got a good grip around my shoulders, too.

Matthew clears his throat with a displeased expression on his face. “Would barely talk to me last night and wouldn’t say a word this morning,” he says. “What kind of shit have you been brainwashing her with, April?”

I glower at him. “Don’t talk like that,” I say. “And I’m not discussing this with you here, not right now. Not in front of her.”

“Seems like you’ve talked about everything else in front of her,” he says.

I turn my back on him and open the back door of the car, gently depositing Alaina into her booster seat and helping her buckle in. “Don’t talk to me that way,” I say, turning back. “I’m not fighting with you here.”

“I’m not fighting,” he says. “I’m asking you to answer a simple question.”

I take two steps closer to him and get right in his face. “All I’ve been doing for the past two years is trying to help her. Be her mother. Be two support systems at once, and it’s not been easy. The reason she acts the way she does around you is because your leaving traumatized her, Matthew.” I shake my head. “And the fact that you’re trying to place the blame on me is really damn sad.”

“All I know if that I’m sure you’ve been feeding her lies about me,” he says. “Our marriage was bad for a long time before we split up, and it wasn’t all me.”

“I’m not saying that,” I spit. “That’s not the point. The point is that you left your daughter when she was three years old, and that’s how she remembers you. Have you ever taken a second to imagine how she’d understand that? One day you’re here, one day you’re gone. How would that feel? For you, how would that feel?”

He’s silent, but still bristling. His jaw is set firmly and his sapphire eyes are on fire.

“That’s what I thought,” I say. “It wouldn’t feel good. And has it ever crossed your mind to apologize to her? My guess is no.”

“I tried-”

“I don’t care what you tried,” I say, stepping backwards with one hand on top of the car. “Tell it to your lawyer. I’m not going to do this to her again.”

I slam the driver’s side door and Matthew stalks to Alaina’s window, which is open halfway. “Bye, Alaina,” he says. “I had a really fun time with you. Hopefully you can come back soon.”

“Say bye to your daddy,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Bye,” she murmurs, and I throw the car into reverse just far enough so he’s aligned with my window instead of hers.

“Go to hell,” I growl, eyes narrowed to slits, then back the rest of the way out to head home.

Alaina and I sit in the living room on the brown armchair for a long time together. She’s curled up in my lap with her head on my shoulder, running my hair through her fingers absentmindedly and not paying attention to whatever’s on TV.

“I’m sorry you had to go over there, babe,” I say. “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my choice, but if it had been, I would’ve never made you go.”

She clutches my shoulders and buries her face deeper into my neck, hiding. I rub her back and kiss the side of her head, swaying back and forth where I sit.

“What is it?” I ask. “Was Daddy mean to you? Did he say something to you?”

“You,” she says, pulling away. I can see that her cheeks are stained with tears, and more are coming.

“Me?” I ask, tipping my head in confusion.

“You said,” she says, her voice bogged down with tears. “You said you weren’t gonna leave and you did. You left and you said I’d never have to see Daddy again and I did.”

I feel like I’m going to throw up, because she’s not wrong. During her nightmare a couple weeks ago, I had said that. And now I realize that I went back on my words, even though it hadn’t been my choice. There’s nothing I can do now but apologize.

“I’m sorry, honey,” I say, squeezing her tight as she cries. “I’m so sorry, I know I said those things. I really mean them, I really do. I came back, didn’t I? I promise you that I’ll always come back, even if you have to go away again.”

She sobs harder. “I’m gonna have to go away again?”

I kiss her forehead over and over, about to start crying myself. I can’t believe what he’s - no, we’ve - I can’t believe what we’ve done to her.

“I’m gonna do everything I can so you don’t have to,” I say. “I promise I’m going to try.” 


	6. Chapter 6

** JACKSON **

Holy shit.

That’s the one phrase that’s running through my mind as I’m in the shower, standing directly under the water jet and letting it wash over me, pounding on my head and shoulders.

Holy shit.

I can’t believe that just happened.

I had not gone over to April’s house expecting to sleep with her. That was actually the last thing I imagined would happen, and now I hardly know what to make of it. She hadn’t been tentative or cautious at all, and that wasn’t the way I thought she'd be in the bedroom at all. She had a sense of confidence that she wasn’t necessarily missing in everyday life, but it definitely didn’t showcase itself in the same way.

Sexually, she’s a force to be reckoned with. And I would’ve never expected that.

I lean against the cool tiled wall in the shower and remember all the ways she touched me. Her hands are small and delicate, but they knew all the right places that get me going. Sleeping with her didn’t feel new, not exactly. I still loved the exploring aspect of it, but nothing felt awkward or uncomfortable. It felt like we’d been doing it forever, and I loved that.

I lather up my body and let out a long sigh as I wonder what it meant to her. Was it just sex, or was it more than that? Her words ring through my mind:  _we really need to buy a new box if this is gonna be a thing._

If what’s going to be a thing; the sex, or a relationship? I had tried to clarify in the moment, but she answered just as vaguely as she’d made the statement. It was no help. I don’t want to assume anything, but because of that I need to stop my stomach from flipping every time I think about the way she looked when I gave her her first orgasms in years. Or the way she looked curled up into herself when I had woken up in the middle of the night, cold and naked. Without waking her, I had situated us both under the thick cover and wrapped her up in my arms and fallen back to sleep. Yeah, I definitely can’t imagine her like that.

I get out of the shower and get my stuff together to head to soccer. I sing along to the radio while cruising down Lakeshore Drive, and zip up my fleece all the way once I get to Field 13. We’re playing against the Hammerhead Sharks today with their gray and blue jerseys, and we’ll probably lose. But admittedly, I’m not excited about the soccer aspect of this morning. I’m excited about seeing April again, though I’d just left her house a few hours ago.

I try to keep my energy at bay, but it’s hard to conceal. First off, I got to the lakefront way too early and am doing exercises when Mark and Sofia show up - jumping up and down and tapping my toe to the ball as I go.

“Avery!” Mark shouts from far away. “You’re here early.” He gets closer and dumps all of their things by the sideline. “Nothing better to do?”

“Nope,” I say, trapping the ball. “Hey, Sof,” I say, and she gives me a wave as she sips on a small carton of chocolate milk.

“I hope the snack mom brings good ones today,” Mark says. “I’m starved.”

“You made me eat breakfast and you didn’t have any,” Sofia points out.

Mark creases his eyebrows. “I don’t need this from you,” he jokes. “I get enough of it from your mother.” We look off to our left and see a couple other pink and white jerseys headed our way; none of them being April and Alaina, though.

My stomach drops suddenly as I wonder if they’ll even show. April had been so upset to hand Alaina off to her father; maybe they’ll deem soccer unnecessary this morning. I hope they don’t, but I’d understand.

I’d wanted to help her earlier - talk it through so she could get it off her chest. But talking hadn’t been something she was interested in. I smirk to myself as I remember how objecting wasn’t really in the cards for me. I’d be crazy if I said no to her as she straddled me, completely naked.

But I can’t think about that now. More and more players are arriving, and it’s my job to hype them up.

I clap my hands. “Alright, Flamingos!” I cheer. “Let’s do some warmups while we wait for everyone else to get here.”

I get the girls to stand in a circle around me and lead them in a series of activities that will get their blood pumping. Jumping-jacks, ball taps, stretches, the works. We’re in the middle of a passing drill when I see who I’ve been looking for this entire time; April and Alaina are making their way to us, slowly but surely.

“Okay, five minutes ‘til game time!” I say, clapping my hands. “Huddle back here in five minutes. Break!” I trot over to the sidelines where April is struggling with unfolding a lawn chair because she’s got Alaina on her hip and can only work it with a single hand. “Here, let me,” I say, and take the chair from her to set it up.

She looks at me with an expression I can’t read, then sighs. “Thanks,” she says, hitching Alaina up higher.

I look at the back of the little girl’s blonde head. “How is she?” I ask.

April gives me a slight shake of her head. “We just came to watch,” she says. “She doesn’t want to play.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” I say, keeping my distance. The last thing I want to do is get in Alaina’s bubble if she’s not feeling it today. “That works for me. It’ll give some of the other girls a chance with the ball if the superstar’s off the field.”

April works up a chuckle, but it’s weak. There’s a beat between us and she rubs her daughter’s back and leans her head against the side of Alaina’s. “It’s not good,” she says softly. “I’ll… I’ll tell you more later. It’s not the time. But I thought the least we could do was show up.”

“If you need to leave, don’t feel like you have to stay,” I say. “I’m happy you came, but…” I gesture to Alaina. “She comes first. Whatever you need.”

She sits down in the chair with loud exhale. “Thanks, Jackson,” she says.

My attention is pulled back to the field by the sound of Mark blowing his whistle. “I need my assistant coach!” he bellows.

“Co-coach,” I mutter under my breath, then smile. “Wish us luck.”

“Try not to suck,” she says, and I throw a wave over my shoulder as I go join Mark in hyping up the team.

We end up losing pretty bad, but April is a great cheering section. She gets Alaina to sit facing forward on her lap and she tracks the game with her eyes, but doesn’t get loud like her mother. I see them exchanging some conversation during slow points, talking seriously with their faces close together, but Alaina definitely isn’t herself. It makes me feel a myriad of different things to see her this way; spending time with Matthew has dampened the usual bright and peppy child I know, and that pisses me off more than anything else. It makes me mad at him and the court system for letting it happen.

But at the same time, I know it’s not my place to feel these things. Alaina is my student, and I’m sleeping with her mother. Simple as that. Well, not simple as that. Actually, it makes things very complicated.

After everyone has dispersed and gone through the line of high-fives congratulating the other team on a good game, April and Alaina are one of the only ones left on the field. April is trying to gather everything they brought while Alaina stays glued to her side, tugging on her sleeve.

As I get closer, it’s easier to hear their conversation. “Mommy… hold me? Please? Pick me up?”

“Just one second, Laina. I need to get all of our stuff. I don’t have 10 hands.”

“I want you to carry me.”

“I know,” April says tersely. “But I can’t carry you while I get all our stuff together, okay? You need to be patient. I’ll be right there.”

“I can help,” I say, coming up behind them. April jumps. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Here, I’ll grab your stuff and you can get her.”

“Thanks,” she breathes, and hoists the little girl’s small form up in her arms. Alaina faces backwards over her mother’s shoulder with her legs on either side of April’s torso, arms slung over her shoulders.

We walk to her car without speaking, though I badly want to. I’m not sure how to bring up the conversation I want to have with Alaina in the middle of us, so I keep quiet. I load the things into the trunk of their car once we get to it, and April buckles Alaina into the back seat. Then she gets into the driver’s side and closes the door, but rolls down the window to talk to me.

I lean on it with my arms crossed and spend an awkward moment chewing on the inside of my lower lip.

“Sorry she didn’t play today,” April says, glancing in the rearview mirror. “I just didn’t want to make her.”

“No, no, no, don’t apologize,” I say. “If she wasn’t feeling it, she wasn’t feeling it. Totally okay. Especially since…” We lock eyes. “Yeah. No worries.”

“Okay,” she says.

I don’t know why the air between us has shifted from just a few hours ago. Is it because her kid is so nearby and she feels guilty about it? If that’s it, I can sort of see where she’s coming from. But I wasn’t the one who initiated everything last night and this morning, that was all her. Maybe she’s regretting what she decided to do while she was tipsy, but again… she wasn’t plastered. She still had her wits about her. I just want to make sure it wasn’t something I did wrong.

I shake my head slightly. Why am I behaving like a teenage girl?

“So, about last night,” I say quietly.

“I…”

“Mommy, can we go home?” Alaina asks from the back seat, her voice carrying to the front.

April meets my eyes, hers shining. “Not now,” she says to me. “Later.” She swivels to look at her daughter. “Yep, we’re going, honey.” She looks back at me. “Call me tonight.”

I hate myself when my stomach flutters. How does she already have me wrapped around her finger this tightly? “Okay,” I say. “I will. Sounds good. Thanks for coming today, Alaina.”

As I’m throwing my soccer ball into the back seat of my car, I hear someone pull up next to me and roll their window down. Looking over hoping to see April, I’m disappointed when I see that it’s only Mark.

“Avery…” he says, grinning wolfishly.

“Mark,” I respond.

“I saw you talking to Kepner,” he says, eyebrows raised.

I slam the back door of my car and lean on the side of it. “And?” I say.

“Don’t ‘and’ me, you asshole,” Mark says, then looks over his shoulder at Sofia. “Don’t repeat that. Don’t listen to Daddy.” He looks back at me. “I know you. Did you get in there?”

“God, stop,” I say, and he taps the window where his arm is resting.

“You did!” he exclaims. “How? When? Damn, you work fast.”

“I’m not getting into it here,” I say, but I feel a sense of pride in my gut. That must mean that our body language was that obvious, and some part of me deep inside really likes that. We have a link now, and nothing can change that.

“Drinks, tonight,” he says. “Callie’s taking Sof to her parents’ once we get home. I’ve got the whole night ahead of me, and you do, too. Unless…”

“Fine. Drinks,” I say, though the fact that I’m supposed to call April lingers in the back of my mind. I just won’t stay out with Mark that long. Not past 9. “You’re a tool, by the way.”

“I do try,” he says, then starts to roll his window back up. “Tonight. Irish Eyes. Be there.”

“I will,” I say, then wave him off as he drives away and roll my eyes. He’s insufferable, but I’m secretly happy that I’m going to get a chance to talk about her. Maybe he can help me get some clarity out of this.

***

The first thing Mark does when he walks into Irish Eyes is give me a huge clap on the back. So hard that I jolt forward and some beer tips out of my glass, but I turn around with a grin on my face anyway.

“You got laid,” he says. “I can tell. Your step is lighter, the bags under your eyes are gone, you have a renewed vigor for life. This is the Avery I like to see.” He starts a slow clap, and I roll my eyes. “That’s my boy. That’s my  _boy_!” He orders a drink and then turns to face me. “So how was it?”

I open my mouth in a smile and look around it. “Uh,” I say. “It was pretty fucking amazing.”

“Yes!” he shouts, pumping his fist in the air. “She’s hot. Damn, I can just imagine what she-”

“Don’t,” I say, raising a palm.

He chuckles. “So how’d it happen? What, did you take her out on a date? Romance her, turn on that old Avery sparkle?”

“I, um…” I rub the back of my neck. “No, actually.” He looks confused. “She called me yesterday night and asked me to come over. She’s got this whole crazy custody thing going on with her daughter - I won’t get into it, but yeah. She was pretty messed up over it, still is. So she wanted someone at the house with her.”

“Someone at the house with her,” Mark echoes.

“Yeah,” I say, still smiling. “So I went over there, didn’t really expect anything to happen. She was kinda tipsy when I got there, but still generally you know, capable. Actually, very capable.” I say the last part with wide eyes. “It just kind of happened. She told me she wanted to kiss me but thought it was stepping over the line, obviously it wasn’t… and once we started kissing things just… went from there.”

“Went from there?” he says, asking for clarification suggestively.

“I’m not getting into it with you,” I say.

“Come on!” he says. “I have to live vicariously through someone. Everyone else is getting boring. But this…” He points at me. “This is getting good. It’s not like I’m gonna tell anyone. Who would care, anyway? Do you think I’m gonna come to your school tomorrow and tell the principal? Avery. Come on. Spill the fuckin’ beans.”

I sigh and set an elbow on the bar. “Fine, but no details. She gave me head, I returned the favor-”

“That’s my boy.”

“We fucked-”

“And it was life-changing.”

“In the morning she went down on me again and we went for round two. I think she wanted me in the shower with her, but I didn’t do it.”

“And why the fuck not?” he asks.

I sigh. “That’s where it gets complicated.”

He leans forward. “And what exactly is so complicated about a beautiful woman wanting more sex from you? I can’t wrap my head around you sometimes.”

“It wasn’t  _that_ , per se,” I say. “It was the fact that I think she was using it to forget what she didn’t want to think about. Which was her ex.”

“Wait, hold up,” he says. “She still has feelings for her ex?”

“No, no, no,” I say, shaking my head. “The opposite. She hates him. He wants joint custody of their kid, and she’s fighting him on it. Like I said, she’s messed up about it. And it kind of felt like she was using sex as a way to forget about it.”

“And wait, where's the problem here?” Mark asks. “I’m failing to see it.”

“The problem is…” I say, finding the words to say as I take a long sip of my beer.

“Oh,” he says, finally realizing. “You were feeling it more than that.”

“Yep,” I admit. “And I don’t know if she was. She was being really fucking vague. And I didn’t want to be the one asking too many questions.”

“Yeah, no,” he says, still mulling it over. “How was she vague?”

“We were talking about condoms,” I say. “And she said ‘if we’re gonna keep doing this, we’ll have to buy a new box of these.’ Because me and her ex definitely don’t wear the same size, but that’s a different story.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “But… yeah. Doing this. Very vague. You didn’t ask her what she meant, did you?”

“Well, yeah, I kind of did,” I ask. “The answer didn’t help though.”

He sighs. “Don’t… you… don’t make her get specific. Enjoy what’s happening right now while it’s happening. Don’t get all freaked out about it until you have to.”

“And when do I have to?” I ask, a bit scathing.

“You’ll know,” he says. “Just chill out for five seconds and enjoy her. Get to know her. Or don’t. Or just sleep with her, if that’s what she wants.”

“What if that’s not what  _I_  want?” I ask.

“Well, you matter too, of course,” he says. “But what I’m saying is that if you want to keep spending time with her in any way, you go along with what she wants right now. You never know what it might turn into.”

“I guess,” I concede, and finish off my beer. We stay at Irish Eyes until almost 10 o’clock, and when I look at my phone to check the time I curse under my breath.

“What?” he asks.

“I gotta go,” I say, standing up. I finished my second beer over an hour beforehand, so I’m not drunk at all when I slide off the stool. “I’ll see you this next week.”

“Where’re you going?” he asks. “Thought this was boys’ night.”

“It was,” I say, then wiggle my phone in the air. “But now I got a girl to call.”

“Alright, fine,” he gives in. “But you better let me know how it goes.”

“Sure, sure,” I say, then pay my tab before leaving. I’m walking down the sidewalk as I dial her number, and it starts to ring as I get in the driver’s seat of my car. I wonder if it’s too late, if I waited too long, and feel relieved when she picks up sounding calm and quiet.

“Hi,” she says. “You’re calling kinda late.”

“Yeah, I know, I-I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t forget. I was just out with Mark.”

“Coach Mark?” she asks, a laugh in her voice.

“I- yeah…” I say. “He’s kinda my best friend. I guess. If you wanna use terms like that.”

“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” I say. “We went to college together and stuck around the city after that. I’m his daughter’s godfather, so that’s pretty cool.”

“I bet you’re good at that,” she says.

“Not much to be good at, honestly,” I say, messing with my keychains. “It’s just more of a title that I use to sound cool. Did it work?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Got me.” She giggles for a second and then pauses, inhaling for a few beats. “I-um...Alaina’s in bed. She’s been asleep for hours. I was just wondering if you wanted to come over.” She clears her throat. “To talk.”

“To talk?” I say.

“About last night,” she says. “And stuff.”

I hurriedly shove my keys into the ignition and start up my car. “Sure,” I say, trying as hard as I can to sound nonchalant. “Like now?”

“Like now,” she says, and I can hear her smile. “Just come on in. I’ll unlock the front door.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’m in Lincoln Park, so I’ll be like ten, fifteen minutes.”

“Sounds good,” she says, and hangs up the phone.

I hate myself for the amount of nervous and excited energy shooting through my body as I drive the two miles to her place. When I pull up on the curb, I turn my car off, pocket my keys, and take in a deep breath. Act normal. Stop acting like such a freak. This is April we’re talking about.

That makes it worse. This is  _April_  we’re talking about.

I shake my head as I walk around the front of my car to her gate. This is stupid. I’m usually the one with the cocky confidence and I make women nervous, not the other way around. I don’t like feeling this way, I tell myself, but I don’t know how true that is. I’ve never felt the jumpy, excited feeling that’s in my gut right now. It’s a little thrilling.

I go in the front door quietly like she suggested and find her house lit-up, but quiet. I keep it that way, knowing Alaina’s asleep, and kick off my shoes by the front door where I’d put them last time. I pad past the staircase, through the dining room, and into the kitchen area where I find her standing at the island in neon pink athletic shorts and a black tank top.

Fuck.

“Hey,” she says. “Heard you come in. You’re kinda sneaky, like a mouse.”

I chuckle. “I was trying to be quiet. Didn’t wanna wake up the kid.”

“Oh, she sleeps like a rock,” April says, peeling a banana. She dices it up and adds it to a Tupperware that I see is already half-full of chopped pineapples and grape halves. “I was making fruit salad. Want some?”

“A little random,” I say, plucking out a pineapple chunk. “But sure.”

“Interesting choice,” she says, giggling, then takes one for herself.

“Why’s that?” I ask, goading her.

Her cheeks flush pink. My heart soars because of it. “You know what they say about pineapple,” she says, waving her hand.

“No,” I lie. “I don’t. Tell me.”

“Jackson.”

“What?” I ask, widening my eyes in innocence. “I’m just trying to learn.”

“I know you know,” she says. “Stop baiting me.”

I crack up and take another chunk. “You’re too easy,” I say. “And anyway, you don’t believe that whole thing about pineapple making you taste better, do you?”

She shrugs.

“You’re the doctor, though,” I say. “So I guess you tell me. Is it true?”

“Well,” she begins. “It’s not as easy as like, eating pineapple right before you do it. It’s based more on your diet. If you eat a lot of pineapple and sweet foods and stay hydrated, it’s proven that you will have less of a strong taste. For women, at least. For guys, it’s harder.” She giggles. “Semen is never going to taste like a pina colada.”

“Penis colada,” I say, and she rolls her eyes hard.

“Stupid.”

“So,” I say, leaning forward onto the island. My eyes dart to the black countertop, the one she had me pushed up against about 24 hours ago, then back to her. “You wanna talk?”

“Sure,” she says, picking up her Tupperware. “We can sit on the couch.”

I follow and sit next to her on the gray couch leaning against the picture window, and she sets the fruit salad between us. I notice that she’s picking through it specifically for the pineapples, and smirk to myself. When she sits, her shorts ride up and I can see the tight V in between her legs, and I can’t force myself to look away. I’ve never seen her dress like this before - it’s just casual athletic loungewear - but it’s driving me crazy. That tank top is so tight, and the only thing I can think about is ripping it off over her head.

“So last night…” she says, pushing her hair off of her shoulders. It’s in loose waves, like she must have let it air-dry. I can smell her shampoo from here; something flowery and light. “What about it did you wanna talk about?”

“I just feel like…” I say, eyes scanning her body. I can see just the tiniest amount of cleavage, and I know she sees me concentrating on it. “We should talk...about it.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, placing a piece of pineapple between her lips and then sucking it into her mouth. “Me, too.”

“I just…” I let a loud breath out of my nose and press my lips together. “I can’t really think right now.”

“No?” she asks, licking her lips. She moves the Tupperware out of the way so she can scoot closer, crossing one leg towards me. “I wonder why that is.”

“I think you know,” I say. “And I think we really…” She runs one hand up my thigh until it grazes over the bulge in between my legs that’s already halfway there. “Really, should talk…”

“You’re right,” she says. “We do need to.”

In one swift motion, she swings one leg over my hips so she’s straddling me, our torsos and groins aligned right up with one another. She’s so hot - in looks and in temperature - heat is practically radiating from between her legs.

“I just wanna do something first,” she says, tilting her head and crushing her lips to mine.

“April… should we be-” I say against her mouth, but my words get lost between us. I wind my arms around her waist and slide my hands lower until they can grip her ass, then squeeze it generously. She moans into my mouth and jerks her hips forward, which makes her center rub up against my erection so I hold her even tighter.

I lay her down on the couch and cover her body with my own, grinding my hips in between her legs as she keens in response. She reaches between us and cups her hand over my bulge, tightening her fingers with her top teeth grazing over her lower lip mischievously.

I chuckle and bury my face in her neck. “What are you doing…” I murmur, opening my mouth on her skin and dragging my tongue over her throat. I nudge her wrist out of the way so I can slip my hand inside her shorts and cup her over her underwear, dragging two fingers over the damp patch that’s already there. “Two can play at that game,” I whisper.

She trembles, letting a low sound escape. “My god,” she moans, and I push her panties to the side so I can slip those same two fingers inside of her, pulling them out slowly just to slip them back in again.

“Jesus, you’re wet,” I say, inching her tank top up her waist with my free hand. “Fuck, how ready have you been?”

“I asked you to come over, didn’t I?” she breathes, raising her hips to meet my working hand. I don’t answer her; instead I tilt my head and angle my lips against hers, aggressively pushing my tongue into her mouth only to have her come back just as forcefully.

She bends her knees and shoves my hand out of her pants, grabbing the sides of my face to give me another hungry kiss.

“We can’t do this here,” she pants, and I notice that her lips are swollen and her chest is flushed pink. She’s so ready.

“Do you wanna go upstairs, or…?”

“Yeah,” she says, and hurries up from the couch. She flicks the lights off as we go, locking the front door before heading up the stairs - taking two at a time.

We get into her bedroom and she makes sure to the lock that door too, even going so far as to double-check it after. “Okay,” she says, curling her fingers around the waistband of her unbearable pink shorts. “Now we can-”

“I really wanted to be the one to take those off you,” I say, wrapping my arms around her hips and pushing her down onto the bed. She bounces a couple times, smiling up at me, and I take my time getting those shorts off her smooth, pale legs.

On their way down, I skim my fingertips down her skin and watch the goosebumps rise up in response. She squirms when I lock my teeth around the waist of her underwear, taking in a trembling breath as I let go and drag my nose over her arousal and cover her with my tongue. I can taste her, and I know I’m torturing her.

“Jackson,” she moans, and I twitch inside my pants hearing her say my name.

“Say it again,” I murmur, sliding her underwear off.

“Jackson,” she breathes softly, lifting her hips so my job is easier. When she’s bare before me, I waste no time in covering her heat with my mouth and delving my tongue inside her, gripping the outsides of her hips so she doesn’t crawl away from me. As I work on her, she shimmies out of her tight tank top and tosses it to the side, unclasping her bra on her own and flinging that wherever her shirt went off to.

As I suck on that bundle of nerves that drives her crazy, she bends her knees and widens them out with a desperate cry. I know she’s about to come, so I’m confused when I feel the heel of her palm at my forehead pushing me away.

“What…?” I ask, still tasting her on my lips.

“I want you inside me,” she says, attempting to pull me up with the little leverage she has with her fingertips on my shoulders. “I wanna feel you.”

“Fuck,” I say. “Where’re those condoms?”

“Drawer,” she answers, eyes telling me which one she means. I reach over her body and pull out the same box and do my best with putting one on myself. “I didn’t buy new yet,” she informs me.

“Well, it hasn’t even been 24 hours,” I say. “I didn’t expect you to. And anyway, I can.”

I bend one of her knees and push inside her, which makes her throw her head back in ecstasy. Her eyebrows are tilted against each other, forehead creased, and she’s clutching at the comforter for something to grab onto. I help her out by entwining our fingers together - pinning one hand above her head while the other one grazes her breast roughly.

“Mm, yeah, just like that,” she moans desperately, her hips meeting the rhythm of my own. “Shit, Jackson, just like that.”

I continue, and she pulls my hand that was resting on her breast higher - up to her face so she can wrap her mouth around my pointer finger, sucking it on it languidly as I pump in and out of her.

“Jesus Christ,” I pant, feeling her tongue wrap around my digit as she sucks on it harder. She runs her hand up my wrist all the way to the outside of my bicep, digging her nails in deep as she comes back down.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream and I pull my hand away so I can press my thumb hard against the electricity between her legs. I can feel her knees gripping either sides of my torso, gritting her teeth so she won’t yell out.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,” she repeats, her words flowing together so they don’t mean anything anymore. She breathes heavily - her chest heaving as her hips buck against me, moving out of her control with what I’ve done to her. When hers is over, she grips my head roughly and kisses me with so much heart that I have no choice but to come unwound, too.

When it’s over, I collapse heavy on top of her with my forehead resting against her collarbone. Her heartbeat is loud and steady close to my ear, and the feeling of her soft hands ghosting over my scalp is enough to put me right to sleep, but I don’t let myself go.

“That was amazing,” she whispers, moving her hands lower to the nape of my neck. “You are amazing.”

I smile against her dewy skin. “Thanks,” I say. “I had help.”

I’m still inside her, and I don’t feel the urge to move anytime soon. I like the feeling of being this close to her, and I hope she does too.

I pick my head up and press my lips to hers; kissing her slow and lazy with one hand woven through her thick, auburn hair. I kiss lower, dragging my tongue over her jawbone and then to the divot between her collarbones, then soft spot between her breasts. Her fingers return to my scalp as I make my way over to the right side, taking her nipple into my mouth and sucking on it firmly, pinching her waist gently as I go along.

She moans with her lips pressed together, and I feel her stomach press against mine as she takes a big breath in. “Yes, that’s - oh…” she says, not managing to get a whole thought out.

I scratch her sides with my nails, which makes her wrap an arm around the back of my neck to keep me close. I feel one of her legs wind around the back of my thigh, skimming what she can reach with the inside of her small foot.

I press little kisses lower, under her bellybutton and then between her legs. “Let me make you come again,” I murmur, running one finger down her soft skin. I can see the muscles in her abdomen tighten because of it.

“Please,” she says, pushing on the back of my head.

“Bossy,” I mutter, but I don’t fight against her. I kiss her center sweetly, making a path lower until I part her folds and cover her with my mouth, listening to the sounds she makes me because of it. I’m starting to get a good idea of what drives her crazy; one thing is definitely timing. And patience - she likes it when I go slow.

So I go slow. I make her wait, and get her close a number of times before pulling away to kiss her inner thighs instead. She get impatient, but she likes playing this game, too. She knows I always plan on coming back.

When I finally let her come, her back lifts off of the mattress and she covers her face with both hands, breathing loudly as I stay where I am. When it’s finished, I wipe her off of my chin and move up her body so I can kiss her, and she holds onto me tightly before I roll off to lie beside her.

"So did I taste like pineapple?" she asks, one hand resting on her ribcage as she turns her head to look at me. 

I chuckle and shake my head. "No," I say. "Better." 

"Whatever," she says, we both crack up laughing. 

We’re only silent for a few minutes after that before a foreign sound breaks the moment.

“Mommy…” I hear, the voice sounding far away. “Mommy...”

“Oh shit,” April whispers, clambering out of bed as fast as she can. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t watch the way her muscles move fluidly under the skin of her back as she lifts herself to a sitting position, or the entirety of her body as she fumbles around in the dark to find something to cover herself with. She eventually finds a thin maroon robe and ties it hastily at the waist, brushing her sexed-up hair out of her face.

“I- um,” she stammers.

“Mommy!” Alaina’s voice is insistent now, though the same distance away.

“I don’t think you should stay,” she says, running one hand through her hair. “I just...I’m… I don’t - I’m sorry.”

A strange feeling washes through my body. I don’t know why I had expected to stay over, but once it was obvious that the night was turning a certain way, I just did. That’s how it worked out the first time, so I just assumed that sleeping over was something that came along with this. And I definitely wasn’t complaining.

But I guess I was wrong about that.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I say. “Of course. Definitely.” I scramble for my clothes and find my way back into them, rushing a little bit.

“I’m gonna go get her now,” April says. “She gets bad dreams. I’m just gonna...go.”

“Me, too,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Uh, thanks.”

“Yeah, um,” she says awkwardly. “You, too. Thank you, too.”

“Sure,” I say, and follow her lead out of her room and walk down the stairs towards the front door. I pause for a second as I hear April’s soft voice as she opens Alaina’s door, but the sound disappears once she shuts it again.

I leave the house silently, feeling a throbbing headache coming on that only personifies my mood. This is only going to get more and more confusing, and I don’t know if I can take Mark’s advice. Sleeping with her while trying to bury my feelings is not going to work.

I’ve never felt anything like this for another person before.


	7. Chapter 7

** APRIL **

I tie my robe tighter as I cross the hallway to Alaina’s room, letting my eyes wander down to Jackson for only a second as I set my hand on the knob. His shoulders are tense and hunched by his ears as he throws his jacket on, and he doesn’t look back up at me standing on the open second story balcony before walking out through the front door.

I try and push thoughts of him out of my mind as I walk into Alaina’s room. “I’m here, sweetie,” I say softly, then close the door behind me. “What’s wrong?”

“Mommy,” she sniffles. “I had a bad dream.”

I sit down on the edge of her bed and wrap my arm around her little body, and she presses herself close to me with one hand rested on my stomach. “Do you wanna talk about it?” I ask, running my hand down the outside of her arm.

She’s quiet for a minute, rubbing her eyes while still crying softly. She shakes her head after a while and I kiss the top of her hair.

“Okay,” I say. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

She looks up at me, and I wipe the wetness off her cheeks with the pad of my thumb. “Can I sleep in your bed?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say, and take her hand to lead the way there. She stops at the bathroom, which gives me just enough time to straighten my extremely messed-up sheets to something that looks more presentable and change into real pajamas. I lay on the side that Jackson had been on and leave my side free for Alaina, lifting up the covers when she comes shuffling back from the bathroom.

She gravitates to my side and I wrap my arms around her, tickling her back softly to try and lull her back to sleep. “You okay, baby?” I whisper.

“I was in a shiny room by myself,” she says, clutching the fabric of my sleep shirt in one of her fists. “It was see-through mirrors. And a big TV screen. And Daddy’s face was big and scary on it; he had pointy teeth with blood on them and he wanted to make you dead.” She starts to sob, and I hold her tightly.

“No, no…” I say soothingly. “No, Daddy doesn’t want me to die, honey. I promise.”

She tightens her grip around my side and digs her fingers into my back; I can feel her tears drop onto my chest and then slip down further. “He said he did,” she cries.

“In real life? Or in your dream?” I ask, suddenly put on edge.

“My dream,” she says, and I feel a small bit of relief. I don’t know what I’d do if Matthew had said that in real life - it would make for a strong case against him, that’s for sure.

“I promise that no one is going to hurt me, especially Daddy,” I say. “You don’t have to worry about that, okay?”

She sniffles and whimpers some sort of half-hearted agreement with her face still pressed to my neck. “Mommy, are you gonna die?” she asks.

The question hits me like a punch to the face. “Not for a very, very long time,” I say. “Not until I’m old and wrinkly and you have babies of your own. Okay?” I rub her back and kiss her temple repeatedly. “Just get that thought out of your mind. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Am I gonna have to go to Daddy’s again?” she asks.

“I… I don’t know, honey,” I answer truthfully. “I’m going to try and make it so that doesn’t happen. You know how hard Mommy works when I try my hardest, right? I’m gonna try my hardest. I promise.”

“Is Daddy a bad guy?” she asks.

I set my jaw and feel my face heat up. I don’t know how to answer her question, because on one hand I don’t want to be charged with a case of PAS and allow Matthew more rights. And on the other hand, I don’t want to lie to her. But right now, I suppose I have to gloss over the truth with her being five years old and only capable of understanding so much.

“No,” I say, forcing the words to sound genuine. “He’s not. He’s made some mistakes, but he does love you.”

I don’t know Matthew he loves Alaina, or the idea of a rounded-out, complete family. I don’t know a thing about him these days, nor do I want to know anything.

“I don’t love him,” she murmurs. “Do I have to?”

“I…” My voice breaks and I squeeze her closer. “No, you don’t have to make yourself feel anything,” I say.

“Am I gonna get in trouble?” she asks.

“No, honey,” I say, running my fingers through her tangled blonde hair. “No.”

“Are you?”

“Am  _I_  going to get in trouble?” I clarify. She nods her head. “No, no, baby, we’re fine. We’re going to be just fine.” We spend a few quiet moments just breathing together, then I whisper, “How about you try and go back to sleep now?”

“I can’t,” she says. “I don’t want to. I don’t want bad dreams.”

“I’m gonna be right here,” I promise. “All night. Do you want me to sing? Would that make you feel better?” She nods slightly and I clear my throat softly and start in on a song. “ _Hey Lain, don’t make it bad… take a sad song and make it better, remember to let her into your heart… then you can start to make it better…Hey Lain, don’t be afraid. You were made to go out and get her… the minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better…Anytime to feel the pain, hey Lain, refrain...don’t carry the world upon your shoulder_.”

She’s loved the song ‘Hey Jude’ since she was a baby, especially when I insert her name instead. I stroke her hair as I finish, and by the time I’m done she’s breathing rhythmically and gone to sleep, hopefully peacefully for the rest of the night.

I don’t sleep well because I spend the whole night worrying over what’s going to happen with Alaina and her father, while also trying to force thoughts of Jackson from trickling in. Right now, a relationship is not something I need to be worried about, though I find myself continuing to revisit the potential of one. I have much bigger things on my plate, but sleeping with him makes me feel so good. I would be crazy to deny myself at least that small sliver of happiness and...well, he’s a man. I’m sure he doesn’t mind the whole no-strings-attached mindset.

When my alarm goes off on Monday morning, Alaina jumps and gasps a little bit. She’s slept in my bed for two nights in a row - I couldn’t bear to say no to her. I rub her shoulder and kiss her hairline, saying, “Morning, sleepyhead. Time to get ready for school.”

She looks up at me with her big eyes. “I don’t wanna go,” she says.

“You’re gonna have to,” I say. “I have to go into work today. I can’t stay home with you. Plus, our weekend’s over, baby girl.”

I get up out of bed and stretch, but Alaina doesn’t move. I go into my bathroom, turn the shower on, and come back out to see her bundled up in my duvet with only her face sticking out. Her eyes are glassy, and when I give her a concerned look from across the room, she turns away from me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Stop,” she says, pulling the cover over her head.

“Lainey…” I say, sitting down on the side of the bed and pulling the blanket back. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I can’t go to school today,” she says. “I don’t want to. I don’t wanna go.”

“Why?” I ask. “You love school.”

“I hate school!” she insists, smacking her hand down on the bed. “I hate school and I don’t wanna go.”

I set my lips in a pensive frown. “But Mr. Avery’s there,” I say. “He’ll wonder where you are. I know how much you like him.”

She hides her face from me again. “I don’t wanna go,” she repeats. “Please can I stay home just this one day? Please?”

I look at her pleading, desperate face and know deep in my gut that I’m not going to get anywhere with her today. I don’t have any surgeries planned, but the hospital is still getting reviewed, which means I need to be administratively the best I can be. Alaina can hang out in my office with her iPad today - I don’t love the idea, but I feel like it’d be cruel to force her to school while she’s fighting me tooth and nail.

“Okay,” I give in. “You don’t have to go to school, but you have to come into work with me. That’s the compromise, okay?” She nods slowly. “You have to be on your best behavior. There are people in the hospital who want to see how we’re doing and give us a grade, kind of. I have to dress really nice and impress them. Can you help me with that?” She nods again, a little smile beginning to appear on her face. “Okay then,” I say. “Let’s get ready to go.”

I call the school on the way to work to tell them Alaina will be absent, and pick up breakfast from Starbucks on the drive. She sips organic chocolate milk in the back seat with an English muffin on her lap, swaying to whatever song is on the radio. For the moment, she seems at peace. And I’m glad I could give that to her today, at least for a little while.

We get to the hospital and I take my daughter’s hand, telling her that she isn’t allowed to let go until we’re in my office. I don’t want her wandering around - especially when there are people being evaluated. I’ve already passed mine with flying colors, but to keep up the aesthetic of the whole hospital, I still have to be at the top of my game looks-wise, even if I’m not performing any surgeries.

We walk through the doors and I let Alaina press the button for the elevator, which she finds very exciting. When we get inside it, Arizona is already standing there with a clipboard in her hands. When she sees us, her face opens in a big smile directed towards my daughter.

“Well, hey there!” she says enthusiastically. “I didn’t know that we were going to have a guest today. Are you inspecting the hospital, too?”

Alaina presses herself against my leg so only half of her face shows, still gripping my hand tightly. “No…” she says, a smile starting.

“Oh, good,” Arizona says. “You would’ve made me so nervous. So what are you doing here today?” She kneels down to Alaina’s level as the elevator opens a few floors below the one we need. “You look more and more like your mama every time I see you. When’s that hair of yours gonna turn red?”

“I have blonde hair,” Alaina says.

“I see that,” Arizona replies. “It’s lovely. I know some magic spray that can help with those tangles, you just spray it right in and it undoes all the snarls. I use it on my daughter’s hair all the time.”

It always slips my mind that Arizona has a daughter. We don’t hang out outside of work.

“You should try it. I bet it’s hurts so bad to get a brush through this head!”

“It does,” Alaina says. “I cry sometimes.”

“I bet,” Arizona says, standing as we get to the floor we both need to get off on. “So what’s going on with your guys’ schedule today? Is she off school or something?”

“She needed a mental health day,” I say quietly, as we make our way down the hall to my office. “She wasn’t doing so well after the whole thing. Going to her dad’s and stuff. So I just decided to let her have a day off.”

“That’s good,” Arizona says, letting her eyes drift to Alaina, who’s keeping our pace easily. “I’m sorry that went so awful. Is there anything I can do?”

“Hire a hitman?” I joke, and we both giggle. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s gonna work itself out. I’m doing everything I can, working with my lawyer and stuff. It’ll be okay. I just have to think about her mental health first, before anything else. I know that, it’s common sense. But Matthew doesn’t seem to realize it.”

“Selfish,” Arizona comments, and I nod with wide eyes.

“Exactly,” I say, and we come up on my office. “I’m gonna get her set up in here and check up on some post-ops. Page me if you need anything.”

Alaina and I go into my office and I put on my lab coat over my dress pants and blouse, checking myself in the floor-length mirror on the back of my door. “I got your iPad all charged up,” I tell my daughter, handing it to her with headphones attached. “I’m not gonna be gone long. I just have to go check up on some sick people and make sure they’re healing okay. After that, I’ll come back in here to sit with you and do some paperwork. Sound good?”

She nods and turns on her iPad on, donning the headphones as I walk out the door. I make the rounds and say hello to people who I need to say hello to, and make sure that all my patients are recovering the way they should be. It takes me about an hour, and when I get back to my office, Alaina is lying on her stomach on the floor with her iPad in front of her - engrossed in a YouTube video.

When she sees me come in, she takes off her headphones and says, “Mommy, I’m bored.”

“Well, I have the perfect solution for that, lovebug,” I say. “Let’s take a walk. I’ll take you to get the best cookie you’ve ever had in your life.”

Hand-in-hand, we walk out of my office and stroll towards the cafe. I introduce her to a few people along the way and she opens up more and seems like herself, instead of withdrawn into a shell that she built up. We get to the cafe and I order a cookie that’s almost as big as her head, and we sit down at a table and split it.

“This is so yummy,” she says, savoring every little bite. She eats around the edges first and then the middle, just like I’m doing.

“You eat like your mom,” I tell her, jutting my chin out. She smiles at me, and I reach across the table to stroke her cheek. “You look so grown up right now. You know that?”

“I’m only five,” she reminds me.

I chuckle. “I know. I’m just proud of you, Lainey-Lou. I love you so much. You know that?”

“I love you, too, mommy.”

“How much?” I prod. “Huh? How much?”

She giggles, tucking her chin to her chest as I tickle her. “Lots!” she squeals. “Mommy!”

It warms my heart to see her smile and laugh; it feels like forever since the last time. “Good,” I say, and wipe a bit of chocolate from the corner of her mouth with my thumb. “But I will always love you more.”

“Nuh-uh,” she says, tipping her head side to side as she takes another bite of the cookie.

“Yes-huh,” I respond, smirking at her.

We finish our treat and get up from our table, and I tell her, “I wanna show you something super special.”

“What is it?” she asks, craning her neck to look up at me.

“You’ll see,” I say. “It’s a surprise. I think you’ll like it.”

We take the elevator up three floors to the NICU, to the wing where the babies that are almost ready to go home are resting in their cradles. Behind a glass viewing window, they’re all tucked up and swaddled, most of them sleeping peacefully and others studying the room around them with wide-eyed curiosity.

“What is it?” she asks, peering up into the window while standing on her tiptoes, fingers clawing at the ledge.

“Here,” I say, and hoist her up onto my hip. “See? Look at all the babies.”

She gasps and opens her mouth in a smile, leaning forward to press her palms to the window. “They're so tiny!” she squeals.

“They were all born too early,” I explain. “But they're getting healthy and strong now. Almost all of them are ready to go home.”

Alaina’s smile stays plastered on her face as she scans the room, pausing on each baby with a soft look in her eyes. She turns to me suddenly with an excited expression on her face and plants her hands on my shoulders. “Mommy,” she says. “I want a baby. Can you have a sister for me? I really want you to have a baby.”

I laugh incredulously and bounce her a little higher. “Right here, right now?” I ask jokingly.

“Yeah!” she exclaims. “I really want a baby sister. She could be my baby. Please, mommy? I promise I'll be nice to her. I really, really, really want a little sister.”

I laugh and kiss her cheek. “Maybe one of these days,” I say.

“Can we have one of these babies?” she asks. “Their families aren't even here. Maybe we can have one.”

“It doesn't work that way, sweet girl,” I say. “I never knew you liked babies so much.”

“They're so itty-bitty!” she sings, her voice very high in pitch. “And one could grow in your belly. Just like me! Just like I did!”

I've told her the story of where she came from many times - it's one of her favorites.

“Someday, maybe,” I say. The idea of another baby sends me reeling. I can't even begin to imagine it at this point in my life. Plus, I'm missing something pretty integral to the equation - a man.

As we stand looking at the babies, Alex Karev sidles up to us and I greet him with a small smile. “Brought mini-Kepner into work today, I see,” he says. “Sup, kid?”

I roll my eyes lightly. “Alaina, this is my friend, Alex. He helps make these babies better.”

“Did you fix these babies?” she asks, pressing a finger against the class. I link my fingers together under her butt - my arms are getting tired of holding her.

“Most of ‘em, yeah,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Who do  _you_  fix, mommy?” Alaina asks, whipping her head around to look me in the eyes.

“I fix big people,” I say. “People who get in accidents - like fires, car crashes, any type of emergency like that. Stuff that you can’t really see coming until it hits you.”

“Do you fix kids, too?” she asks.

“Sometimes,” I say. “But most of the time when a little kid comes in, Alex or Arizona fixes them up. You remember Arizona?” She nods. “They usually take care of the kid cases, not me.”

“What if I got hurted?” she asks.

“Then they’d fix you right up,” I say, touching the tip of her nose with my finger. “But don’t you worry. That’s never gonna happen.”

She wraps her arms around my neck in a tight hug, and I sway her back and forth. I’m glad that I let her stay off school today - this is the first time that I’ve recognized my daughter for a long time, and I’m happy to see her smiling.

After lunch, Alaina takes a nap on the couch against the wall and I take a second to get my phone out and check what’s come in while I’ve been busy. I see that I have a few texts, but none of importance really. I set my phone face-up on my desk while I work through some more papers, and am surprised when it starts to ring. I pick it up quickly so it doesn’t wake Alaina.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” It’s Jackson. I can’t help but smile when I hear his voice, and a weird fluttery feeling presents itself in my gut. “I don’t mean to be weird in calling you, but I just got kind of worried. I know Alaina wasn’t doing too well, and she’s not here at school today, and… I just wondered.”

“It’s fine of you to call,” I say, spinning around in my chair to face the window. “It’s actually really nice of you.”

“Oh,” he says, and I can tell he’s grinning. I can hear it in his voice.

“She’s alright,” I say, looking over at my sleeping child. “She just...well, the nightmares over the weekend were pretty bad. I let her sleep in my bed, and she didn’t want to come to school this morning, so I decided to just let her have a mental health day. She needed it.”

“I get that,” he says. “We all missed her today.”

“She’ll be back tomorrow, I promise,” I say.

He clears his throat. “I, uh…” He chuckles at himself. “I kinda missed seeing you dropping her off here this morning, too.”

I feel my face get hot, and I touch my fingertips to my cheeks. “I swear I’ll be there tomorrow,” I say, and as the words pass my lips I’m inundated with the physical memory of him. Even though it’s only been since Saturday night, I miss the way that he touches me. I miss touching him. I miss his eyes, his arms, and… other things, too. “I could see you sooner, if you wanted, though,” I suggest.

“Sooner?” he says.

“I - um, yeah,” I say. “Like tonight?”

He clears his throat again - it might be a nervous tic, I’m not sure. “Is Alaina going somewhere?” he asks. Before I can answer him, he speaks again and says, “We could go somewhere for dinner, if you want.”

“No, I’ll have her,” I say. “I can’t really go out. I was hoping you… I was hoping you could just come over.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, now understanding. “Come over.”

“Yeah,” I say.

There’s a slight pause. “Are we gonna talk about...this?” he asks.

I had hoped he wouldn’t go there. I really, really don’t want to talk about it - it’ll only make things harder. I hadn’t expected this sort of reaction from him going into this, not at all. I thought it was a guy thing to enjoy just a sexual relationship with a woman, so this is throwing me for a loop. I can’t even find it within myself to feel guilty - I might be religious at my core, but I’m a grown woman with needs. Needs that hadn’t been being fulfilled until recently, and now I don’t want to stop.

“We can,” I say, conceding.

“Really talk this time,” he says.

“Sure,” I say.

“Okay,” he says. “What time should I be there?”

“Around 9,” I tell him. “Alaina will be asleep by then.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’ll be there.”

We hang up the phone and I get back to my paperwork, unable to keep the smile off my face or my core from buzzing with thoughts about him.

***

At 9pm, I’m sitting at the kitchen counter with a cut-up apple in front of me, spritzing it with lemon juice and salt as I go along. When I hear a few soft knocks at the front door, I slide off of my chair and hurry to answer it - dressed in a pair of tight, aqua-colored shorts and a white spaghetti-strapped camisole. I have a pink bra on underneath it, and the fact that it’s easily visible through the white fabric is not a mistake.

“You could’ve just come in,” I say when I open the door. “You don’t have to worry about knocking. I left it unlocked for a reason.”

Jackson looks down at smiles bashfully, coming inside and kicking off his shoes. “I didn’t want to assume,” he says.

“You’re allowed to assume, Jackson,” I say, running one hand through my hair. “Wanna come into the kitchen? I was just finishing an apple.”

“You’re always eating fruit,” he says.

“It’s good for you,” I reply, leading the way. He’s looking around like he’s never been here before, but I don’t question him.

“How was Alaina for the rest of the day?” he asks.

I can’t help but smile thinking about the good day we had. “She was actually really good,” I say.

“She probably loved that one-on-one time with you,” he says. “I mean, she probably felt pretty special going into your work.”

“She did,” I say. “And unlimited time on her iPad didn’t hurt, either.”

He laughs. “I bet. Kids these days love their screentime.”

“They sure do,” I say, and crunch on an apple slice. We make small talk about our days - the bad kids he had to take care of, unruly parents and proud moments, too, and I give him everything boring about all the paperwork I did. Once I’m done with my apple, I hop off my stool and walk over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“Do you wanna go upstairs to my room?” I ask.

I watch his adam’s apple bob. “I… if we talk there, sure.”

“We’ll talk there,” I say, and I take him upstairs and shut the door behind us. I leave the lights on, but on a low setting. “So you missed me today,” I say, getting close to him and touching his stomach underneath the hem of his shirt.

“Yeah,” he says. “I did say that.”

I slip my fingers past the waist of his jeans and pluck the band of his boxers, threatening to go lower. “I really, really missed you, too,” I say, my voice low as I look up at him through my eyelashes.

“April, we need to talk,” he says, body tensing.

I take a step back, scanning his chest with my eyes and then shifting down lower. “We are talking,” I say, and cross my arms at my waist to pull my cami over my head in one fluid motion. “What do you want to talk about?” I slowly push my shorts down my hips and step out of them, following suit with both my underwear and my bra until I’m standing in front of him completely naked. “I’m listening, really,” I whisper.

He shakes his head slightly and rips off his own shirt before taking my head in his hands and kissing me hungrily. I kiss him back, equally as ravenous, and pull eagerly on his jeans so he’ll take them off. While doing our best not to let our lips part, he shoves his jeans down and sheds his boxers before depositing me on the bed with a wolfish grin.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” he says, and I can see that he’s already hard.

“I know,” I say, bending my knees and pressing them against each other. I watch him put on a condom quickly with one fingernail in my mouth and a smile on my lips, and I welcome his body to my own when he joins me on the bed.

He trails kisses down my neck and chest until he stops at the swell of my breast, where he sucks the skin into his mouth and leaves a hickey in his wake. He drags his lips over my nipple and covers it with his tongue, tracing the round underside of my opposite breast as he goes. I make a small sound of frustration and grab his hips forcefully, telling him without words what I need him to do.

“Don’t get greedy,” he says. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

“Didn’t seem like that two seconds ago,” I note, a hint of annoyance in my voice.

“Well, you’re gonna change your mind here in a second,” he says confidently, and I get chills when he runs one fingernail in a straight line along my lower belly - from hip to hip.

He spends so much time kissing me - and that man can kiss. When we finally part, I’m breathless and I want him more than ever, but he seems bent on teasing me. After a brief moment of eye contact, he buries his face in my neck and runs his tongue over my throat, reaching between my legs and cupping my center in his hand before pushing two fingers inside me.

“Come on,” I moan. “You know that’s not enough.” I pull his face away from my neck so I can look him in the eyes. “I want you inside me,” I order.

“Whatever you say,” he says with a grin, but then stands up off the bed.

“What are you doing?” I ask, still lying flat on my back.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he says. “I wanna try this way.”

Electricity sends a shockwave through me as the tone of his voice changes from soft to directing, so I do what he says. I rest down on my elbows with my ass in the air, and plunk my forehead down on the mattress when I feel his fingers tighten around my hips as he prepares to enter me.

When he thrusts inside, my mouth hangs open and my eyebrows rocket to the ceiling. From his standing position, he has a lot more force, and it seems like he’s using it all on me. It feels like he’s going to leave marks and bruises for tomorrow, and I’m definitely not complaining. I like him a little more aggressive in bed.

He reaches underneath and cups one of my breasts as his hips continue to move, and tweaks my nipple - which earns him a little whimper in response. I tilt my hips up higher and can’t help but let out a surprised shriek when his palm meets my ass with a resounding ‘thwack!’

“Shit,” I breathe, pushing back against him.

“Was that okay?” he asks.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” I say. “You can do it again if you - if you want.”

“Did it hurt?” he asks.

“Stop asking that,” I say. “If it hurts, you’ll know. I liked it, alright.” I press my lips together as he holds my other breast, and then connects his palm with the other side of my ass - albeit a bit softer this time. I wish he hadn’t gotten insecure about it, but it’s always something we can work on for the future.

I start to make rhythmic sounds in tandem to the movement of his hips, and upon hearing me, he pulls out and flips us over, reentering me faster than I can complain.

“What’d you do that for,” I breathe, holding his torso between my knees.

“I want to see you when you come,” he says, thrusting in a more deliberate and thought-out manner now. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

I bite down hard on my lower lip as he hits just the right spot, and shoot my eyes open when the spiral begins. I take short, manic breaths and claw at his shoulders while he continues to pump inside me, trying desperately to reach his own orgasm while mine is still happening. It doesn’t take him long, and we’re both coming down around the same time with his open mouth pressed to my pulse point.

Before I’m even fully recovered, he kisses a path down my sweaty chest and lands below my bellybutton, parting me with two fingers before eating me out so passionately that I have another orgasm within minutes of my first one ending. When he’s finished, he crawls up and gives me a kiss on the corner of my mouth and lies down beside me, but I don’t let him get comfortable before hoisting myself up on my knees and getting comfortable between his legs.

“I’m not letting you get away with just one,” I say, smirking up at him. I take him in my hand to get him hard again, and it doesn’t take much to make that happen. When he’s got a full erection, I envelop him in my mouth and bob up and down while using my hand at the same time, and only a few minutes pass before his hips buck involuntarily and I know he’s close. I spend ample time on the head and the underside of his shaft, knowing that the most gentle touches on those places will get him going

“Fuck, April,” he moans as I open my mouth against his inner thigh and suck a generous amount of skin between my teeth. I release it with a ‘pop,’ and return to his penis, where I finish him off eagerly and let most of his come slide down my throat.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as he lies there, staring up at the ceiling and breathing heavily. “Stop staring,” he pants, though he hadn’t even been looking at me. “C’mere.”

“What?” I ask, still sitting on my knees at his side.

He extends his arm out, creating a perfect spot for me. “Come here,” he says, a bit clearer.

“Oh,” I say, deciding not to put up a fight and cuddle against his side. I wrap one arm around his belly and touch his opposite bicep with my fingertips, drawing nonsense patterns with my nails as I listen to his heart hammer under my ear.

We’re silent for a while, and I can almost hear the cogs in his brain working - so I decide to get there first. I bite the inside of my cheek and wet my lips, trying to piece together the right words for this situation. “I really like you, okay?” I say quietly, moving my hand away from his arm to lay flat in the middle of his chest. “And I really like doing this. Can we just leave it at that?”

I feel nervous now that my sentiments are out in the open. I don’t know how he’ll respond; he doesn’t answer right away. He takes his time in thinking up what he wants to say, and I get more and more anxious with every passing second.

Before he speaks, he props himself up on his elbow and hovers over me, looking down at my face soberly. “If you don’t want me to fall in love with you,” he says. “We need to stop doing this.”

I practically fall off the bed. “Wh...what?” I ask, eyes wide.

“I can feel it,” he insists, continuing like I hadn’t interrupted. “It’s gonna happen. If we keep this up, it’s gonna happen.” He meets my eyes and brushes a stray piece of hair off of my forehead. “Would that be okay? If I fell in love with you?”

I have no idea what to say, so I don’t say anything.

“Slowly,” he says. “We can go as slow as you want. I can take you out dressed in a suit and...and court you 1890’s style, if that’s what you want. We can go ballroom dancing. Or...or bowling. And I can drop you off at your front doorstep with no more than a kiss on the cheek, if that’s what you want.” He sighs. “But April, unless I’m way, way off here… I think we both know that this is more than just messing around. I think we’re gonna be something. Mean something. Not right now, but eventually. So, I guess…” He pauses. “No. We can’t just ‘leave it at that.’ Because… don’t you want more?”

I stare up at him. I have no idea how to react. No one’s ever spoken so outright and candid to me - no one’s ever worn their heart on their sleeve so blatantly around me before. I had no idea that men were even capable of speaking in such a way, of putting all of their emotions out on the table like that. Jackson continues to surprise me.

The butterflies in my stomach definitely aren’t helping me think, either. The way he’s looking at me is nearly hypnotic - those blue-green eyes are doing things to me that I didn’t know were possible. My heart is in my throat. I hadn’t expected this. The least I had expected was for him to say that he needed to start calling some of the shots as to when we slept together instead of just me. This was the last thing I had imagined he’d bring up. I had no idea he felt this way - maybe if I’d known, I would’ve let some of my own feelings sneak in a lot sooner.

“Is that okay?” he asks, prompting me. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been silent.

But a smirk finds its way to my lips once I realize that I have him hanging by a thread. “I’m sticking to my guns for a minute,” I say. “So you don’t think you can win every argument with beautiful words after amazing sex.”

He chuckles and looks down, breaking our eye contact as he presses his forehead to my jaw. He picks his head back up and kisses my cheekbone, saying, “That’s not how it works?”

I scoff, and he continues to laugh at himself.

“Okay,” I finally say, after yet another long silence.

“Okay?” he asks, a confused look in his eyes.

“Okay,” I repeat. “I do want more. But we have to go slow.”

He smiles what looks like an uncontrollable smile and opens his mouth against mine, kissing me with all he’s got. “I know you like it when I go slow, baby,” he murmurs, lips moving against me.

“I can’t stand you,” I say, pushing him playfully away by his shoulders.

“Aw,” he says, diving for my neck and kissing his way to my shoulder. “Your very first lie to me.”

I roll my eyes, but can’t keep myself from grinning. “I’m serious,” I say, though even I can hear the laughing tone in my voice. “Jackson. I have a kid. This isn’t… this can’t just be… a fling. It has to mean something.”

“It’s not gonna be a fling,” he says. “Trust me. And believe me, I know you have a kid. I’ve met her a few times, and she’s pretty freakin’ awesome. I care about that kid a whole heck of a lot.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and touch the tip of my nose to his. “Are we really gonna do this? You’re sure. We can do this?”

He kisses me again, long and sweet. “I’m sure,” he says. “We can do this.”


	8. Chapter 8

** JACKSON **

Much to my surprise, April lets me spend the night. In fact, after the conversation where we put everything out on the table, she reached her arms out for me and snuggled into my side, wanting me to hold her close. And, f course, I had no objections. Lying there, I stared up at the ceiling as she fell asleep faster than anyone else I’d ever slept beside.

I can’t help but smile about it, even now. According to the clock on her nightstand, the alarm isn’t due to go off for another hour, yet I can’t seem to fall back to sleep. I can’t take my eyes off of her; I’m fixated on the peaceful way she looks right now, without a worry in the world. She’s still in the crook of my arm, one hand resting over my stomach and her cheek smushed against my shoulder. She’s not showing any signs of waking up anytime soon.

I brush her hair out of her face softly and curl it behind her ear, smirking at the sporadic freckles on her neck that I hadn’t noticed before. I gently press my fingertip to each one of them, which makes her stir. She presses her lips together and creases appear on her forehead as she unconsciously wonders what those small touches are, but I don’t stop. I kind of want to wake her up.

I trace one of her eyebrows with my thumb and her eyelids flutter as she comes closer to consciousness. She takes in a deep breath through her nose and rolls over so her back is facing me a foot or so away on the mattress.

The curve of her naked spine is too tempting - I reach out and draw a line down it, and she makes a soft sound from her throat. I lay my hand flat on her side and scoot closer, wrapping an arm around her middle and spooning her from behind, pressing warm kisses to the back of her neck after I move her hair to the side.

“Jackson…” she murmurs, her voice raspy from sleep. “If you keep waking me up, I’m not letting you sleep over here anymore.”

I chuckle and press my face into her hair. “Such a big talker,” I say.

“I’m serious,” she says, uselessly swatting me away over her shoulder. “Stop. It’s way too early.” She presses her face into the pillow and flattens out onto her stomach, bending one knee as she goes. “Go back to sleep.”

I smile at the back of her head and leave her be for a few minutes, but after that I can’t resist touching her. I push myself up onto my elbows and draw a line of kisses from her shoulders down to the small of her back - going as slowly as I can. I feel her inhale and see her side rise with the breath, then she flips over onto her back and looks at me with bleary eyes.

“You’re not gonna let me go back to sleep, are you?” she asks, blinking slowly.

I shake my head and kiss her good morning. “Nope,” I say.

She groans lightly, tossing her head to one side. I take advantage of her exposed neck and bend to kiss it, nipping and sucking on her skin, which makes her squirm beneath me. She runs her fingers over the back of my scalp, trailing them down the nape of my neck and as far as she can reach over my shoulder blades. I feel her giggle more than I hear it - it’s so soft and breathy, and I want to savor it.

“What do you have planned for today?” I ask, one hand sneaking up her torso to claim her breast.

“I’m working in the ER,” she says. “It’s gonna be a long day.”

“Mm, yeah,” I say. “Me, too. It’s an after-school day.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, digging her short fingernails into my skin when I spend time with my lips at the corner of her jaw. “Oh, Jackson,” she moans. “Laina won’t be up for a while still. And we both have long days… if you woke me up with neck kisses for no reason, I’m gonna be super mad at you.”

I pull away from her and can’t help but laugh as I reach for the condoms. I put one on and yank the sheets back to expose her naked body, only to see that she has little circular bruises at her hips - some light blue, some purple. “Shit,” I say. “I… I didn’t mean to do that.”

She widens her knees and holds the sides of my face so I’ll look at her. “I don’t know why you’re so worried about hurting me,” she says. “I’m not gonna break. And I already told you, I liked it.”

I bite down on my lower lip and kiss her hungrily, pushing inside her while our lips are still connected. She’s warm and tight around me; this is the perfect way to wake up.

She pats my chest after a while, and I roll us over so she’s on top. She runs her hands up my chest as she leans forward, kissing my lips, my chin, my throat, as she rides me slowly and torturously. “I didn’t mean to be pushy,” she says, flattening her torso against mine. I love feeling the pricks of her nipples against my chest. “I’m just a little sore from last night.”

“Understandable,” I say, pressing my lips to the curve of her shoulder.

“But I still like it,” she says, offering me a smile.

“Noted,” I say, placing my hands just beneath her ribcage as she sits up. My eyes drift to the place where we’re joined and in order to get her to orgasm quicker, I press my thumb against the nerves that I know will do it. When I do, her fingers bend and she scratches me as her chin hits her chest - when she lifts her head up and throws it back, her eyelashes flutter uncontrollably as she breathes raggedly on top of me.

“Jesus Christ,” I say under my breath as she falls with her face in my neck. It doesn’t take me long to get there, too - seeing her come gives me that little push that I need.

We lie there pressed together for a few minutes, sweat mixing and heartbeats syncing up, until she rolls off of me and sits at the edge of the bed. “I’m gonna shower,” she says, reaching and hitting a button on the clock so her alarm won’t go off in thirty minutes. She pushes her hair back from her face and walks to the bathroom completely naked. “Wanna join me?”

The first time - not that long ago, really - I’d denied her. But now, I have no such plans. She turns on the water and we get in together, unable to keep our hands and lips off of each other. I have her pressed up against the slick wall, my fingers laced with hers over her head and my hips trapping hers in place, when we’ve barely shut the door.

Moments later, she unwinds her fingers from mine and sinks down to her knees, and I take her place leaning against the wall. The way she looks up at me with my dick in her mouth practically makes me come without her having to do much more - I’m already hard enough as it is and it doesn’t take long for her to get me off.

“Get up here,” I growl, pulling her to face-level as she giggles lightly. I kiss her forcefully, then get down on the ground to return the favor by slinging her knee over my shoulder and connecting my lips with her core before she can say anything about it.

As the water is pounding on my back, I make her come for the second time this morning. As her body is trembling above me, a myriad of thoughts run through my mind. Last night, we both promised to take it slow.

Oral sex in the shower is not taking it slow.

I stand up straight again and watch her pant, and she shakes her head when she notices me looking. She pushes her wet hair out of her eyes and runs her hands down my chest, her fingers bumping over my pecs and muscles in my abdomen. “You’re amazing,” she says, pressing herself close to me to kiss my neck.

“I was thinking,” I say, swiping her hair off of her shoulder as I take the shampoo bottle off the shelf. I squirt some into my palms and work it through her hair, and she leans back against my chest as I do so.

“About?” she prompts.

“If we’re gonna do this - you know, us…” I say. “We said we were gonna go slow. You wanted to go slow, that’s a big deal to you.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, eyes closed as I lather up her head.

“So I think we should lay off the sex for a while,” I say, and her head cocks in confusion.

“Wait, what?” she says.

“I think it’ll be healthier,” I say. “So we can make sure this isn’t all… just sex.” I know full well that it isn’t just sex, but I think I need the clarity. If I come to expect sex every time I see her, that’s not going to be healthy for either of us. It can’t be all we think about. I think about it enough as it is.

She turns to face me. It isn’t easy to take her seriously with her hair sticking up every which way soaked in bubbles, but I try. “So… what? What does this mean?” she asks. “How long are we supposed to hold off for?”

“Well, do you think it’s a good idea?” I ask. “I don’t want to be the one like, making the rules here. That’s not what I’m trying to do. It’s just a suggestion.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s a good suggestion. I agree. It’s just going to be… really hard.”

I laugh and she smirks mischievously.

“That’s pretty much my bad for jumping you every time I get you alone,” she says. “It’s just…” She gestures between our bodies. “Don’t you feel that pull? That crazy, insane pull?”

“Of course I feel it,” I say, keeping a dollop of soap out of her eyes with my finger.

“You’re only the second guy I’ve been with,” she says. “Ever. The first guy was Alaina’s dad. So, I don’t know. I think it just all came over me… I had no idea it could feel so good.”

“I know,” I say, gently nudging her beneath the water so I can rinse the suds out of her hair. She closes her eyes, tips her head back, and sighs. “Can we still make out?” she asks, smiling.

“I think that’s allowed,” I say. “Making out and touching above the waist.”

“Just a break from below the belt,” she says, opening her eyes. “I can deal with that. Can you?”

“I think so,” I say. “I guess we’ll see.”

As I’m massaging the conditioner into her hair, she looks at me with a pensive expression. “I’m not ready to tell Alaina about us yet,” she says.

“I… I didn’t think you would be,” I tell her.

“Yeah. It’d just be a lot for her. I will...eventually. Just not right now. It’s not the best time. I want to wait a little bit, and I don’t want her to feel like we’re springing anything on her. It has to be respectful, however I tell her. She has to be comfortable with it.”

I nod. “I totally understand.”

“She has so much going on right now,” April says. “I just don’t wanna freak her out with something else yet.”

“You don’t have to keep explaining,” I say, touching her chin. “I get it. I’m sort of a kid expert, if you remember.”

She laughs and lightly smacks my chest. We get through the rest of our shower with only shower activities, and I get redressed when we get out.

“I’ll see you at school,” I whisper, standing by the front door as she’s on the bottom step dressed in her robe. I walk up to her and give her a soft kiss on the lips. “Have a good day.”

Her eyes take a moment to open after we pull away. “You, too,” she says, and gives me a small wave as I head out the door.

***

I’m sitting at my desk as the kids file in later that morning, feeling happier and lighter than I have in a long time. I lift my head every once in a while to greet them, but I’m concentrated on my lesson plan for the day when I see a pair of high heels walk up to stand across from where I’m sitting.

“Good morning, Mr. Avery.”

I look up and see April smiling, her hair is curled and shiny, she’s wearing a tiny amount of makeup, and she has a pretty green cardigan on. “Hey,” I say, matching her grin.

“Mommy, this is my table,” Alaina says, catching April’s attention by pulling on her wrist. “It’s blue. And I sit between Shelby and Sarah.”

April looks back over her shoulder. “I love blue,” she says. “That’s so awesome, sweetie. How about you sit down, and I’m gonna talk to your teacher for a second, okay?”

Alaina nods and goes to join her friends, and her mother faces me again. “How was the rest of your morning?” she asks.

“Not as good as the first half,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “That’s for sure.”

She giggles and tucks her chin. “Agreed,” she says.

“How was it getting her to come here?” I ask.

“She fought me a little,” April says. “But not too bad. I think she missed her friends. And you.”

“Definitely me,” I say.

She glances down on my desk and sees an empty picture frame that I’ve had sitting there since the beginning of the year. She taps it and says, “You should fill this.”

I shrug and smirk at her, then the warning bell rings, which means class will start in five minutes.

“Oh, I should go,” she says, and leans forward on her hands. But when she realizes where we are and what she’s about to do, she pulls back and clears her throat. “Um, have a good day.”

“You, too,” I say, a glint in my eyes.

“I’ll be there to pick her up from after-school,” she says. “I might be cutting it close. Like I said, I’m-”

“In the ER, I got you,” I say. “Don’t worry about it. Go save lives.”

She gives me a breathless smile. “Thank you.” She walks to Alaina and gives her a kiss on top of the head. “Be good, honeybee. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye, mommy,” Alaina says, then turns back to her friends. I watch April leave the room and stand up from my desk, clapping my hands to get the day started.

Time flies by, and all of the kids are surprisingly well-behaved today. I find my eyes lingering on Alaina more than anyone, checking to see how she’s holding up. More often than not, I find her smiling and laughing with her friends, and it makes me happy. That’s how she should be acting. She shouldn’t be weighted down with thinking about her father or what’s going to happen with her having to see him. She should be carefree; she should be allowed to be a kid. I’m glad the environment that I’ve created has made it possible for her to do that.

At the end of the day, April rushes in to pick Alaina up a little past 7 o’clock. Technically, my program ends at 7, but as usual I pull the strings for her.

She is my girlfriend, after all.

“Hey,” she says wearily. “Laina, get your coat. We gotta go.”

“Why?” Alaina pipes up, looking over from her clay creation at the table. “Mr. Avery said I could finish my snowman.”

April hitches her purse up on her shoulder and meets my eyes for a brief second before flitting her gaze back to her daughter. “You’ll have to finish tomorrow, sweetheart,” she says. “We’re in a hurry.”

“Why?” Alaina asks again, still molding clay. “We don’t have soccer. All we do is go home and eat dinner.”

“Not tonight,” I say. “We have an appointment to go to.”

“What’s that?”

April sighs. “Can you just get your coat, please?” she snaps. “And zip it up. It’s cold out.”

“Mommy…” Alaina whines.

“Alaina, I am not going to listen to this whining. Get your coat, zip it up, and grab your backpack. I do not want to hear it.”

Reacting to her mother’s sharp tone, Alaina does as she’s told and trudges towards the coat hooks. “What’s going on?” I ask.

“I have to meet my lawyer,” she says, shaking her head. “Matthew’s called for a custody hearing, and we have to put together some sort of petition to file against his, and she’s going to brief me on everything that’s going to happen.”

“Holy shit,” I say, floored. “He’s really doing this.”

She nods tersely. “Yeah, he’s really doing this.” She runs her hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be short. It’s just… it’s the last thing I need today. I lost a patient that I could’ve sworn was gonna pull through, and this hearing shit is just the icing on the cake.” One arm flies up. “Alaina! We’re going to be late!”

“Stop rushing me!” Alaina cries, and I decide to do what I can and go over and help her zip up her coat. Her blonde eyebrows are knitted together in frustration as she stomps towards her mother, then April takes her by the hand gently.

“I’m sorry, but we’re gonna be late,” April repeats, then looks to me. “I’ll talk to you soon. I’ll call you if I get time tonight.”

“Why are you calling Mr. Avery?” Alaina asks, craning her neck to look up at April.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” April says. “We have to get going. Let’s get this show on the road.”

After they leave, I sit atop a cafeteria table and massage my temples. I figured a relationship with April wouldn’t be easy; I’m not looking for easy. I’m looking for something worthwhile. But that doesn’t change the fact that I hate feeling helpless - like I can’t do anything substantial to support her.

***

The rest of the week passes slowly and torturously. I see April in the mornings and the evenings when she comes to pick up Alaina, but other than that she’s been slammed at the hospital and from meetings with her lawyer. We haven’t even gotten a chance to talk on the phone. I hate myself for it… but I can’t help but feel a little insecure about what we started. If we can’t even make time for each other during the first week, what hope does this have of turning into anything serious?

That thought sneaks into my mind a lot, but I try to will it away. She has so much going on in her life, and I can’t let my ego get bruised over that. On Friday when she came to pick Alaina up, she looked beyond exhausted and she still had to go to her therapy appointment that night. Her schedule is running her ragged, and she needs a break. I’m just not sure how to give her one with her not wanting to up and leave Alaina for a fun night out.

At the soccer game on Saturday morning, I’m kicking the ball around the middle of the field when Mark and his family show up. When I say family, I mean Mark, Sofia, Sofia’s biological mother Callie and Callie’s wife, Arizona.

“Good morning, Avery!” Mark bellows. I wave at all of them, and Sofia unzips her soccer bag to get her ball out and join me on the field.

I trot over to them and pass the ball back and forth with Sofia as I talk. “See you brought the whole fam today,” I say.

“My mommies and my daddy!” Sofia shrills, and I smile at her.

“Lucky you,” I say.

“Where’s your woman?” Mark asks.

I roll my eyes. I made the mistake of dishing on everything that transpired between April and me, and now he’s taking it upon himself to bring her up at any moment possible. He’s also attributed all the credit to himself.

“Shut up,” I say. “They’re not here yet. I was early.”

“I love that - so excited that you can’t bear to stay at home another second,” Mark says.

Callie looks on curiously. “Who’s this woman you’re talking about?” she asks. “You haven’t dated in awhile, Jackson.”

“Oh, well… it’s still kind of new,” I say, kicking the ball hard so Sofia has to run after it. “She’s - oh, there she is.” I point off to the distance, where April and Alaina are approaching. April is leading the way with a lawn chair under her arm, and Alaina is trailing behind her, kicking a ball without any real direction.

“Wait, that’s … you’re dating April?” Arizona asks.

I look at her confusedly. “You know her?” I ask.

“I… of course I know her,” Arizona says. “I work with her.”

“Wait… you’re kidding, are you-”

“Hey,” April pants, letting the lawn chair hit the ground. “Lainey, your friend’s here!” She calls back to her daughter. “Hurry up!” She looks up and when her eyes land on Arizona, they light up with both recognition and confusion. “Wait, Arizona?”

“April,” Arizona laughs. “Morning. Good to see you out of scrubs.”

April looks down at her outfit, which is just a simple pair of jeans and a light blue crewneck sweatshirt with her burgundy fall jacket unzipped over it. It’s getting close to the end of October, and the weather isn’t so pleasant anymore. “What are you…?” April asks, looking between all of us who are staring at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Sofia’s my daughter,” Arizona says.

April narrows her eyes. “With…Mark?”

Arizona laughs. “My adopted daughter. Callie and Mark are her biological parents, but the three of us raise her. It’s super… interesting.”

“Sounds like it,” April says, laughing. “Well, that’s awesome. I’m sorry, I had no idea. I feel like a horrible friend. I should’ve known that.” She hits herself upside the forehead with the heel of her palm. “I feel so dumb.”

“No, it’s fine,” Arizona says. “What I’m most interested in is what Jackson just told us… you two are dating now?”

I feel April’s eyes on me as my face heats up. Arizona sure put me right on the spot. “We....are,” she says, and as I glance over I see that the apples of her cheeks are bright red.

“Well, congratulations!” Callie exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. “Jackson, you better be good to her. Arizona has told me how awesome she is with a scalpel. Don’t break her heart.”

“I… I don’t plan on it,” I stammer. I feel like an ass. I hadn’t meant for this to become a huge deal, and I can’t help but wonder what April’s thinking about it.

“And same goes for you,” Mark says, pointing at April. “Be gentle with my boy. He might seem like a hardass thanks to his tough exterior, but he’s soft inside. Got a heart of gold. Treat him right.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything different,” April says.

“I mean that, Kepner,” Mark says.

“Okay, shut the fuck up,” I say.

Mark slaps me on the shoulder and starts laughing. “Have you two been on a proper date yet? I know you’ve had some romps in the sack-”

“I  _said_  shut the fuck up,” I say, through gritted teeth.

“The question stands. Have you taken the lady out yet, Avery?” Mark continues.

“I…” I rub the back of my neck. “I haven’t gotten the chance yet, no,” I admit.

“Unacceptable!” Mark bellows. “You are taking her out tonight.”

April cuts in. “It’s really okay… it’s partially my fault, we’re both so busy-”

“Are you busy tonight?” Mark asks.

Her mouth hangs open for a moment before she answers. “I’m… no, but I have Alaina, and-”

“Kepner!” Mark shouts. “Little Kepner!” Alaina spins around, her twin French braids flying as she does so. She looks at her coach with a wild smile on her face, one foot trapping the pink and black soccer ball that Sofia is trying to get from her. “Do you wanna come over to our house and hang out with Sofia and Arizona tonight? And me and Callie? Have pizza? Watch movies? Eat candy ‘til our teeth fall out?”

Alaina pumps her fists in the air. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!” she cheers.

Mark turns back towards the two of us. “Looks like your night is cleared.”

April looks at him, visibly impressed. “Seems that way,” she says, then glances at me.

I hated Mark just a few seconds ago, but now I love him. “God, thanks,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that, we totally could’ve-”

“You better take this woman bowling,” Mark says. “I insist.”

“I’m not gonna…” I trail off.

“That’s my sticking point,” he says. “You want me to play Mr. Babysitter for the night, then you gotta take the lady bowling. It’s all I ask.”

I look over to April, who’s laughing. “Bowling sounds kinda fun,” she says, flashing that magnetic smile. “I haven’t gone in forever.”

“Bowling?” I ask. “Seriously. We don’t have to. You don’t have to go along with his crazy-ass ideas.”

“No,” she says. “I want to. It sounds fun and different.” She giggles again. “We’ll have a good time.”

“Our first date is gonna be at a bowling alley,” I say under my breath, then look to Mark. “You happy?”

“Extremely,” he says, his smile reminiscent of the Cheshire cat.

***

Why I’m nervous to pick April up for a bowling date, I have no idea. But as I’m in my car on the way over to her house, my palms are sweating and my mouth is dry. I’ve never felt like this on the way to a first date before - and this one I thought would be even more low-key. We’ve already slept together a handful of times. It’s not like we’re making a first impression.

But in a way, we are. All we know of each other is from the bedroom. What if she thinks I’m boring? What if I’m not the person she made me out to be in her head? What if this was all just sex, and I was totally wrong about her?

I pull up on the curb and turn my hazards on, straightening my shirt as I walk up the front path to her house. I’ve walked these same steps a few other times in the dark, but now it feels totally different. I actually put thought into the outfit I’m wearing - dark-wash jeans and a nice gray hoodie - and made sure I smell good. I knock on the door and hear her say something from the inside, then the door opens and she stands in front of me, still putting on an earring.

“I just have to find my socks,” she says. “I was gonna wear sandals, then I remembered that we’re going bowling, and we’ll have to wear those lovely shoes they give us.”

“Also that it’s like, 45 degrees out here,” I say.

“Well, the sandals are super cute,” she says. “My feet could stand to suffer for beauty.”

I chuckle and she welcomes me inside. I linger in the doorway as she sits on the staircase and puts a pair of hot pink socks on that don’t go with her outfit at all - she’s wearing black skinny jeans and a periwinkle shirt with cap sleeves, and her hair is straight for the occasion.

“I’ve never seen your hair that way,” I say. “I like it.”

“Oh, thanks,” she says. “I thought I’d straighten it. Don’t really know why.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” I say. “Not that I don’t… don’t like your curled hair, because I do. A lot. I just like this, too. A lot.”

She smiles down at the ground as she puts her shoes on. “Ready to go?” she asks upon standing.

“Sure,” I say. “My car’s parked right out here.”

We get in the car and she gets comfortable in the passenger seat, and I get comfortable with the idea of her in the passenger’s seat. It’s blowing my mind that we’re actually doing this, even though I’m not sure why. I could have my choice of women in this godforsaken city. Why is this one turning me inside out?

“Nice car,” she says, leaning back in the seat. “Comfy.”

I turn on the ignition. “Thanks,” I say. “You look nice tonight, by the way. I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I thought it. It just didn’t come out.”

“You look nice, too,” she says, reaching across the console and patting my leg. I want her hand to stay there, but she moves it back to her lap. I wish she could read my mind, because I’m not sure how to get it back where I want it. Physical things are so much harder in daylight.

We get to the bowling alley and she practically skips inside. “Are you seriously that excited about this?” I ask.

“Yes!” she says, resting her forearms on the tall counter where we order our shoes. “I haven’t been bowling since middle school. I used to be on the team.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. “You were on the team?” I echo. She nods. “You failed to mention that earlier.”

“What, does it intimidate you?” she asks, raising her eyebrows in my direction. “Size 7 please,” she tells the guy behind the counter. He puts a pair of shoes in front of her that have definitely seen better days, but she smiles and digs for her money anyway.

“Oh no, no, no,” I say, getting to my wallet first. “I’m paying.”

“You don’t have-”

“It’s a date,” I say. “I’m paying.”

She giggles. “Such a man,” she says, and runs her hands down my arms, which gives me chills.

“Well, it’s only right,” I say.

“I like it,” she says, holding her shoes with two fingers on the laces that are tied together. “Come on, let’s go find our lane.”

She sits on a plastic chair and ties her shoes up, and I work on getting our board running.

“I’m gonna beat your ass, I hope you know,” she says. “I’m gonna channel all my skill from when I was 11.”

“Whatever,” I say. “You talk a big game.”

“You’ll see,” she says, and walks off to find a ball. She comes back with a marbled pink one, and I pick one that’s dark green. “You’re up first.”

I pick up my ball from the turnaround and walk confidently up to the lane with it hanging from one hand. I aim for the middle and let it go, and end up getting an embarrassing gutterball. “Goddammit,” I say under my breath. I turn back and see that she’s sitting in the plastic chair closest to the lane, knees drawn up to her chest as she giggles. “What?” I say. “What’s so funny?”

“Your form is horrible,” she says, putting her legs down. “Want me to show you how it’s done?”

My ball pops back up and I sigh. “Sure,” I say.

“I am a pro, you know,” she says, standing up. “Come on. It’s easy. You just have to know the tricks. First of all, don’t carry your ball with one hand. You look like a caveman. You put three fingers in the holes-”

“Not the first time I’ve-”

“Shut up,” she cuts me off, but she’s grinning. “Shut up. Fingers in the holes. And support the ball with your other hand, like this.” She overlaps my hands with her own on the surface of the ball, squeezing my fingers just slightly. “See, doesn’t that feel better? More secure?”

“It does feel better,” I say, turning my head to look down at her.

“Stop it,” she blushes. “Then you walk up to the lane, and you gotta own it.”

“I own it,” I say, narrowing my eyes at the pins. “I own you,” I tell them.

“Exactly. Confidence,” she says. “And Lord knows you have enough confidence for everyone here.” I laugh, and she guides my elbows. “Aim for the middle, but think about your angles, too. It’s all about geometry. You’re right-handed, aren’t you?” I nod. “I knew that. Then curve your right leg behind your left after you throw it, and the angles should work out for you. It should go where you want, God willing.” She smirks at me. “If you tap your nose and lean a little after you throw it, that helps too.”

“How?” I ask.

“Faith, trust, and a little pixie dust,” she whispers, and kisses my cheek. “Luck.”

My cheek feels like it’s on fire. “Oh,” I say. “Right.”

“So try it out,” she says, stepping backwards.

I feel a huge amount of pressure with her eyes on me, though it’s only stupid bowling. I try to take her advice and do everything she said in the right order, and the ball flies down the lane only to hit the rightmost pin and that’s it.

“Shit,” I curse.

“It’s okay!” she says, clapping her hands together. “What helps the most is practice. You’re not gonna be good at something right away.” She laughs. “For once.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, taking her spot on the chair. “You go.”

With expert ease, she shoots a perfect strike. “Goddammit!” I say, mouth hanging open. “You tricked me. I thought we were gonna come here and be on the same level, and you’re showing me up in front of everybody.”

“Does it bother you, Mr. Avery?” she asks, walking over to me and looping her arms around my neck. She gives me a chaste kiss, and I rest my hands on her hips.

“Not if I get one of those with every strike you get,” I say.

“We’ll see,” she says, and motions for me to take my turn.

We get through our game and she beats me - hard. I’m not feeling too wounded over it, though, because the gleeful look on her face when she wins is worth more than my sore loss.

We get some shady bowling alley food and sit down at a round table across from each other, sipping pop in paper cups through straws.

“So what else don’t I know about you, besides that you’re queen of the lanes?” I ask, taking a bite of my burger. It doesn’t look that great, but it doesn’t taste half bad.

She taps her chin and shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says. “I feel weird talking about myself. Ask me something. I’m not just gonna rattle off my life story to you.”

I chuckle. “Okay, even though I’d like that. You were talking on Tuesday morning… I’m only the second guy you’ve ever been with?”

Her cheeks flush. “Of course you pick that,” she says. “How long have you been stewing on it?”

I smile as I sip my drink. “A while,” I admit.

“Well, yeah,” she says. “Well… that’s basically it. I was raised religious and taught to wait for marriage, which I did. Matthew had the same values, so that’s what we did. We met in college and got married right after, when I started medical school. I’d never been with anyone before him… I mean, I’d had boyfriends. But no one serious. Nothing that lasted long. And he… well, I thought he was different. I had thought we were a lot alike, and maybe at one point, we actually were. But things changed. As things tend to do.”

I nod slowly. I want her to keep talking about this. I feel like she doesn’t get to talk about her deep feelings a lot, and if the place they come out is a dirty bowling alley - so be it.

“We planned Alaina,” she says, then stops herself. “Wait, I’m so sorry. Is this too much? Am I like… I don’t mean to be telling you my whole tragic backstory. That’s so annoying of me. You didn’t ask for this.”

I laugh. “I did, though,” I say. “And I promise, I want to hear. I’m interested. I want to know stuff about you.”

“You don’t care about  _this_  stuff…” she says, writing herself off. “I can stop.”

“Please don’t,” I say. “I like listening to you.”

She rests her chin in her palm. “Are you sure?” I nod. “Okay. Only if you’re sure.” I nod again, and she sighs. “Anyway, we planned her. We mapped out our lives and looked at the timing and what would fit where. I used ovulation charts and period trackers and got so into it. She was so wanted. We wanted a family together so badly.” I can hear the pain in her voice, and that lets me know how true this is. Or was, at one point. “And we got her,” she says, tone changing. “Our beautiful little baby girl. On March 30th. She weighed almost nine pounds, she was a beast. I remember thinking that I couldn’t be happier than I was right then when she was born, and that lasted for a while. A long time, actually.” She pauses for a moment. “She used to love him,” she says, meeting my eyes soberly. “It wasn’t always like it is now. She used to be daddy’s little girl. They would do everything together. He would bring her to the park and play with her whenever he got a chance. He’d bring her into the hospital to visit me. When she was one, two, three, they were inseparable.” She shakes her head. “And he was hiding so much from us.”

“Wait,” I say. “He was hiding it for that long?” She nods. “You’re joking.”

She looks down at her fries and takes a few. “Nope,” she says. “He’d been involved with Leah for… about two years? Before he left us for her. He’d been living this whole double life. One day I picked Alaina up from preschool and came back home to his stuff just gone. A note. He left a note. I didn’t even read it all, I couldn’t make myself.” She starts laughing sardonically. “A damn note. Yeah. And he left it to me to explain to Alaina why he left and where he went, and that’s not easy to do with a three-year-old.” She sighs. “It was three days before she turned four. He walked out right before her birthday. Didn’t contact her besides birthday cards, and I never showed her those. It was just too hard to explain.” She squeezes her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose. “That’s why she is the way she is. Why she draws that horrible picture all the time. She isn’t the same kid she was before he left, and I don’t think she will be again. But I’m trying to help her be happy, I’m trying my best at that.”

“You’re doing a good job,” I say genuinely. “You’re all she ever talks about at school.”

“Yeah?” she asks.

“Oh, definitely,” I say. “But Jesus. I can’t believe he… and now he has the nerve to fight for custody?”

“Yeah… I-I don’t know. We don’t have to talk about it anymore, you know, the hearing is coming up and it freaks me out. I can’t imagine not having her all the time. I can’t imagine forcing her back to see him.”

“I know,” I say. “But hopefully it’ll all work out. The judge is gonna see that he’s an unfit parent. I mean, who doesn’t contact their kid for two years? That’s not the mark of a good father.”

“You’re right,” she says, then flutters her eyelashes. “How come you always know just what to say?”

I shake my head and look down bashfully. “No,” I say.

“You do, though,” she says. “You’re so effortless. You don’t even have to try.”

“Again, wrong,” I say. “I try really hard.”

“Well, it doesn’t show,” she says. “I mean that in a good way.” She takes my hand across the table and sips her drink before nibbling on a few more fries. “So, tell me about you. Now that I’ve spewed my whole life story to you, geez. You just heard more than I tell my therapist.”

“I told you I don’t mind,” I say. “I’m interested. I wanna know.”

“Okay, okay,” she says. “I wanna hear about you.”

“It’s not exciting, really,” I say. “I… I’m an only child, it was just me and my mom for most of my life. Interesting fact, my dad actually walked out on me, too.”

“Wait, no way,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “My mom never really knew why he left. He never sent child support, nothing like that. So it was up to her to raise me, kinda like you’re doing with Alaina. Except I definitely wasn’t as cute.”

“You definitely were,” she says, reaching out and touching my chin. “I’d die to see some pictures from when you were a kid.”

“The day after never,” I say, laughing as I continue. “So I relate with Alaina. I spent a lot of my childhood wondering what I did wrong, you know. What I did to make him leave. My mom never talked about it with me, we just kind of pretended he was never there at all. But I remembered him. He didn’t leave until I was like, 8. And we just pretended he never existed, like it didn’t bother either of us. It was like that for a long time, until I got older. And finally, I just got tired of it and I asked her. And she told me everything she knew, which wasn’t even that much. But it felt good to have it all out there, instead of pretending like everything was fine all the time.” I nod to myself. I’ve never told this to anyone.

“You and your mom sound like you’re close,” April says.

“Yeah,” I say. “We are. We went through the hard phase like everybody does during my teenage years, but we’re way past it now. I call her like, once a week. Of course, she’d like it if it were more… but…” I smile. “Are you close with your parents?”

“Yeah,” she says. “We’ve always been pretty close. Church families tend to be like that. My parents and the four of us girls, we used to do everything together when I still lived in Ohio.”

“Wait, church family?” I say.

She chuckles. “I’m not like that anymore, I promise,” she says. “But when I was growing up, everything was about church. My world revolved around it. My life changed in a big way when I moved here, away from all that. I didn’t find my footing until college, I was late on that. I used to be super insecure, and it took a long time to grow out of it.”

“What would you have to be insecure about?” I ask. She rolls her eyes. “No, really. You’re freakin’ smart, you’re gorgeous, you have a great body, you’re funny as hell… what’s not to like?”

“You’re sweet,” she says. “And you make me blush.” She presses her fingers to her cheeks. “Guys have always found me annoying. I was pretty unfortunate in school. My sisters used to call me ‘duckie,’ short for ‘ugly duckling.’”

“That’s fucked up,” I say.

“Yeah,” she says. “I know.”

We spend a long time sitting at that grungy table, eating our bowling alley food and talking about our lives. It’s almost 10 o’clock when we both realize the time and get out of there, walking hand-in-hand to my car.

On our way home, I keep a good grip on her thigh. She rests her hand over mine as we drive, running her fingers delicately over the bumps of my knuckles and veins.

“What neighborhood do you live in?” she asks.

I look over at her briefly. “Oh, Lincoln Park,” I say. “Close to the school. Wanna drive by and see my house?”

“Sure,” she says with a smile, and I take a few extra turns to drive by my townhouse.

“There it is,” I say. “832. The one with the light on.”

“It’s nice,” she says, looking past me through my window. “Can we go in?” I notice the glint in her eyes. “Just for a little bit. Mark said he’d keep Alaina however late I need him to, and she’s asleep by now. A little bit longer is okay.”

“Sure,” I say, pulling into my parking space. “I’ll show you around.”

I lead the way into my house and turn the lights on, illuminating the place. Beside me, she looks around and nods as she takes it all in. It’s not as big as her house, that’s for sure, because I make considerably less money. But it’s nice, and it’s home. I’ve lived here for about three years now.

“It’s so warm and cozy,” she says. “Is it okay if I take off my shoes?”

“Of course,” I say, walking to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. Do you want a drink?”

She follows me, but makes herself comfortable in the living room. “I’m not gonna do alcohol tonight,” she says. “But if you have lemonade, that would be awesome.”

“I don’t have lemonade, because it’s actually not summertime,” I say. “But I have Sprite, if you’re interested.”

“Sure,” she says, and I pour her a glass and bring it to her. We sit on my couch sipping our drinks, and she lets out a long sigh with a slight laugh at the end.

“What?” I ask.

“Just thinking about how I beat you earlier,” she says. “I beat you so bad.”

“Okay, it wasn’t  _that_  bad,” I say. “I could’ve come back from it. If we played another game, I could’ve definitely come back.”

“You are dreaming,” she says, setting her Sprite down on the end table. “Did you want me to use a coaster?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say.

She laughs. “You’re such a bachelor.”

I rest one arm along the back of the couch and lean in towards her, and she leans her head back against the cushion and looks up at me amusedly. “Not anymore, I’m not,” I say. “I got you.”

“You got me…” she says, trailing one finger down my chest over my sweatshirt. “You’re a teacher, aren’t you supposed to be good at English?”

I chuckle and press the side of my face to hers. “You smell like the bowling alley,” I murmur into her hair.

“Lovely,” she responds.

“Like smoke and bad decisions.”

“Even lovelier,” she giggles. “Can I see your room?”

I clear my throat. “Um, sure,” I say, and stand up. We go down the hallway and I turn the light on, and she sits down at the edge of my bed, beckoning for me to join her. I sit down and almost instantly she’s on my lap, her knees straddling my hips with her hands at my collar. “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.

“We can fool around above the waist, right?” she says, dragging her top teeth over her lower lip. “Try and make me come.”

I grin devilishly. “Easy,” I say.

“You’re so cocky,” she says, opening her mouth to mine in a heady kiss. “It really turns me on.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her shirt off over her head, exposing her multi-colored polka-dotted bra. I press my face in between her breasts and relish the softness of her skin against mine, and skim my hands roughly up her sides until they slide underneath the band on her back.

She jolts her hips against mine as I unclasp her. “No, you stay still,” I say, moving my grip to her waist for a second.

“They have a mind of their own,” she says slyly.

“I’m very aware,” I say, and pull her bra off down her arms. I fling it across the room and lay her down on her back, and she looks up at me with flashing eyes, her fingertips resting loosely over her ribcage.

As I crawl over her, she strips me of my shirt, too. With my mouth on her clavicle, she scratches up and down my back, teasing to go lower at the waist of my jeans. Suddenly, I find myself wishing that I would’ve never suggested what I said earlier this week. I don’t want to go back on it, but I’m really hard and she’s really hot.

I bite sections of her skin from her neck all the way to the swell of her breasts, coming up with a popping around each time. Her back arches from the mattress as she moans and ghosts her fingers over the nape of my neck, and I smirk when I hear her. I love eliciting sounds from her; I love reducing her to this - taking her words away. It means I’m doing my job correctly.

I cover one nipple with my mouth and pay plenty of attention to it with my tongue and teeth. While my mouth goes to work on one breast, my hand goes to work on the other - squeezing it roughly before pinching the nipple between my thumb and first finger, tweaking it until her breath comes in short, ragged gusts.

I give her this attention for as long as it takes, but it doesn’t take as long as I’d anticipated. “Are you close?” I ask, my mouth moving against her breast that’s wet with my saliva. She nods shakily, and I suck her nipple forcefully between my teeth again. I want so badly to reach inside her jeans and get her off with my fingers, but I know that’s against our rules. I know I can do it without taking that step, but I hate depriving the both of us from that sensation.

“You’re gonna… you’re gonna give me…” she whimpers, digging her nails into my shoulder blades. I gently bite down on her nipple and hear the sound of her palm smacking against her face as she comes. Her entire body quivers under my own and she moans softly with her lips pressed together. As she comes undone, I part my lips with her breast and connect them with hers. She kisses me back as best she can as her orgasm ripples slowly through her, and lazily pushes her tongue into my mouth.

“Oh, god,” she breathes after it’s over. “I didn’t think you could.” A long pause. “But you did.”

I kiss down the middle of her chest to her bellybutton, which I draw circles around with my fingertip. “I told you it’d be easy,” I say.

She pulls my face up to meet hers and runs the backs of her knuckles over my cheeks. The look in her eyes is warm and clouded with something I can’t name, but I really, really like it.

“Tonight was great,” she finally says, after studying me for seemingly forever. “You are great.”


	9. Chapter 9

** APRIL **

The next week’s Friday morning, Alaina is dragging her feet as she picks something to wear. “Honey, we need to hurry,” I call out, slipping into my flats.

“I can’t find my shirt!” she shouts back.

I hurry down the hallway and peek my head into her room. “What?”

“My softest shirt!” she says, and I see clothes being thrown out of her closet at a rapid speed.

I close my eyes and center myself, willing my temper not to rise. We’re going to be late. All she needs to do is find a shirt, any shirt, and I don’t want a tantrum. We don’t have time for one. “Honey, we’ll find it later,” I say. “We need to go now. We don’t have time to rip apart your entire closet.” I clear my throat and say under my breath, “Even though it looks like you’ve already done that.”

“I want _that_ shirt!” she says, walking out of her closet. I see that she’s dressed in a pair of gray leggings with pink polka dots with nothing on top.

“What shirt?” I ask. “What shirt are you talking about?”

“It has short sleeves,” she says. “It’s dark blue. It’s my one that says ‘strong like mom.’”

I know the shirt she’s talking about. My sister, Alice, got it for her because she saw it at Target awhile ago and thought it was adorable. She got a size small, so it took Lainey a while to grow into it, and lately she’s been wearing it like it’s going out of style. I don’t know where it went off to, but it doesn’t surprise me that she’s lost it. This room is a wreck.

“We’ll just have to look later, babe,” I say, picking a random shirt from her closet and handing it to her. “Here. This one is gonna have to do for today.”

She looks at it. It’s a short-sleeved ombre - starting white at the collar and fading to deep blue at the hem - obviously not what she had in mind. “But mommy…” she whines.

“I’m sorry, Laina, we just don’t have time,” I say shortly. “Put it on, please. We gotta go.”

“Hmph, mommy,” she says, but shoves the shirt on over her head anyway. “Can we find it when we get home from school?”

“Can you run a brush through your hair?” I ask, digging through her bathroom drawers to find her brush.

“I don’t want to… will you?” she asks.

“Okay, come here,” I say, and stand her between my knees as I sit down on the closed toilet lid. I yank the brush through her nearly-matted curls and she yelps in pain, moving away with her face scrunched up.

“You’re hurting me!” she says, holding her head.

“You asked me to brush you,” I say. “We need to get going. Mommy has sick people to help, and you have to get to school.”

I run the brush through an especially difficult knot, and Alaina shrieks at the very top of her lungs. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose as she stands by the wall and cowers.

“Okay,” I say. “A bun it is, then.” I twist her hair up into a neat bun and guide her out of the bathroom by her shoulders. “Tonight, we’re getting through that hair,” I tell her. “I’ll pick up some of that detangling spray on my way home from work. And we are brushing that hair.”

She doesn’t respond, but she puts her shoes on as I get both of our coats. I hurry into the school when we get there, and I see that Jackson is standing outside on the sidewalk with a highlighter-yellow vest on, waving at kids as they get out of their cars and head into the school.

“What are you doing?” I ask him, Alaina still by my side.

“Hi, Mr. Avery,” she says.

“Morning, Miss Alaina,” he says. “I like your bun.”

“It’s a’cause Mommy was gonna rip my hair out,” she states, and I roll my eyes.

“If you’d let me brush it more often, we wouldn’t have this problem,” I say.

“Or,” Jackson says. “We could just shave it all off and you could have as little hair as me.”

Alaina’s blue eyes widen. “No!” she squeals, then catches sight of one of her friends. “Julia!” she calls. “Mommy, can I go inside with Julia?”

“Sure, honey,” I say, kneeling down to give her a kiss. “Have a good day.”

“I love you!” she says as she starts to walk away.

I blow her a kiss. “I love you more,” I say.

“Nuh-uh!” she laughs, and I shake my head at her as I wave one last time.

“So what are you doing out here in this lovely vest?” I ask, plucking at the sheeny fabric on Jackson’s chest.

“Leave me alone,” he says. “I’m the crossing guard today. Cecelia is sick, for like the first time in her entire life. I thought I’d lend a hand.”

“You’re sweet,” I say, watching him as he stands in the middle of the crosswalk while a gaggle of kids trot across. When he comes back, I grab the front of his vest again and stand close to him, our faces mere inches apart. “And super cute.”

He looks around to check if anyone’s watching, and gives me a quick peck on the lips once he realizes that no one is. “Busy day today?” he asks.

I shrug one shoulder. “We’ll see,” I say. “Sometimes you never know. I’ll be here to get her at regular time, though, instead of late.” I pause for a second, running the yellow material through my fingers. “Do you wanna come over tonight after she’s asleep? I miss you in bed next to me.”

He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “It’s only been like, two days.”

“So what?” I say. “I’m needy. Come over.”

“Oh, don’t twist my arm,” he says, chuckling. “Sure. I can bring dinner, if you want.”

“That’d be amazing,” I say. “See you around 9?”

“I’ll be there,” he says.

“Alright,” I say. “Have a good day. Don’t let the kids gang up on you.”

“I’ll try,” he says with a smile, then runs his thumb over the apple of my cheek. “See ya, beautiful.”

I grin all the way back to my car. I don’t think it fades from my face until I get to the hospital.

After I change into my scrubs and lab coat, I walk out of the lounge and join Arizona at the nurses’ station where I’ll look at my caseload for the day.

“Morning,” I say, resting an elbow on the counter. It’s been a couple days since I’ve seen her - our schedules have been completely opposite.

“Hey,” she says with a smile, setting down her iPad to pick up a clipboard. “Oh, Jesus, April!”

My eyes widen as I look at her. “What?” I say. “Do I have something on my face? What?”

She giggles, pushing the lapel of my lab coat down so she can see more of my neck. “Just one question, are you dating a vampire? These hickies on your neck are insane. You look like a high-schooler.”

I jolt away from her hands and situate my collar. My face is hot and I’m sure I must be blushing a brilliant red. “He likes my neck,” I mutter.

“I can see that,” Arizona smiles. “How’s that going, by the way? Other than the fact that he’s trying to suck your blood out.”

I press my fingers self-consciously against the fading marks. Some are older than others, and I’d done my best in covering them with makeup. I guess I hadn’t done as good of a job as I’d thought. “It’s going really well,” I say. “I really like him.”

“Your eyes are sparkling,” she says, tapping me on the shoulder. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

I wave her off. “We’re still taking things slow. But he… yeah. He’s really great. He’s coming over tonight, actually, and bringing dinner.”

“Have you told Alaina about him yet?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I haven’t figured out how or when,” I say. “She’s been doing okay lately. But I’ve been so worried about how the custody hearings are gonna go… telling her hasn’t been on the forefront of my mind. I really want to. I hate keeping her in the dark. But I don’t want to upset her little life again while something so big is going on.”

“I get it,” Arizona says. “When’s that first hearing, by the way?”

“Next week Wednesday,” I say. “I’m off for it.”

“How do you think it’s gonna go?”

I shrug and trace the edges of my iPad absentmindedly. “I honestly don’t know,” I admit. “My lawyer and I put together a strong petition and sent it in, but who knows what he’s already done? I have no idea what he’s going to pull.”

“What kind of pull does he even have?” my friend asks. “He ditched you guys and didn’t have contact for two years. How’s that an example of competent parenting?”

“It’s not,” I say, voice lowering. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell myself. But it’s just scary, the concept of not having her. If it works out that she has to be with him, even every other weekend or something equally as small, it’s going to turn her whole life upside down. She doesn’t like him. And he can’t get what he did through his head.”

“He’s an asshole,” she says.

“I’m very aware,” I say, and shake my head. “God, I can’t believe I ever married him.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” she says. “No. Don’t go saying that, blaming yourself. He was different then, you didn’t know. And you made that beautiful little girl out of it. You can’t look back on the past like that - this is not your fault.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I know. I just wish it could’ve worked out differently. He’s making everything so difficult.”

“I wish that for you, too,” she says. “He’s only thinking about himself. If he had any consideration at all, he’d be taking things step by step. Diving back into parenthood headfirst is not gonna work.”

“He doesn’t get that,” I say.

“Obviously not. Was he ever a good father?” she asks.

“At one point, yeah,” I admit. “He was. He loved her, or at least I thought he did. But how much could he really love either of us if he could just up and leave like that?”

“Yeah,” Arizona muses. “I don’t know. It’s just messed up on so many levels. If you wanna talk about the hearing as it gets closer, you know I’m all ears. I don’t want you bottling it up and going crazy.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“And one more thing,” she says as her pager beeps. “I think you should tell Alaina soon about you and Jackson. She might not consciously know it, but she’ll appreciate the truth. And you’re an awesome mom, you’ll figure out a good way to break it to her.”

“You think so?” I ask, hearing a hint of nervousness in my voice.

“Definitely,” she says. “I mean, you don’t have to. But that’s just what I think. Be an open book with her; it’ll make her feel better while this whole thing is going on.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I know you’re right. I just don’t want to shake her up.”

“I think she’ll be fine with it,” Arizona says. “She loves you and from what you’ve told me, she loves Jackson, too. She’ll probably be super jazzed about it.” She looks down at her pager. “I gotta get going. Talk to you later, okay?”

“Sounds good,” I say, and set down my iPad as I head to the ER.

***

Alaina and I have a nice night together. I make her favorite chicken noodle soup with homemade noodles, and we clean up her room as a team. We have a good time even though we don’t find the shirt she’d ripped it apart for - we end up laughing on our backs on the floor more times than I can count.

As she eats her dessert - pudding in a cup with oreo sprinkles in it - she hums happily and smiles at me when I sit down next to her. I think about what Arizona said earlier, and try to piece together what I want to tell my daughter. I’m not exactly sure of what to say, but I know I want to say something. I really took Arizona’s words to heart.

“Lainey,” I say, and she looks at me with her spoon hanging out of her mouth, eyes bright. “I wanna talk to you about something.” She nods happily and continues to eat. “You know how you have your best friends at school?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, licking her lips. “All my friends.”

“Right,” I say. “Well, I don’t know if you know this, but Mommy doesn’t have that many friends-”

“You have me!”

“Yes, I have you,” I say, touching her chin. “And you’re the best. But grownup friends, I don’t have many of those. And sometimes, I get lonely. Especially when you’re asleep.”

“You can come sleep in my bed, if you want,” she says, stirring up her pudding.

I chuckle. “Maybe. But I’m talking about like, grownup friends that are more my age, you know? I don’t have a lot of those, but I think I made a good one recently. I wanted to tell you about him, because you know him.” She flits her eyes to meet mine. “It’s Mr. Avery. Would it be okay if he hung out here with us sometimes?” I ask. I want to be as open as I can. “I want to make sure it’s okay with you. He and I have become really good friends.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” she asks curiously.

A smile sneaks onto my lips. “Um, actually he is,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “Are you his  _girlfriend_?” she asks.

I’m fully grinning now. “Yes, Lainey,” I say. “Is that alright with you? Would you be okay with seeing him around our house?”

“He lives at my school,” she says. “He would like coming to see a house.”

I laugh. “So you don’t mind?” She shakes her head and takes one last bite of her treat. I stand up and give her a hug, saying, “Thanks, baby. Your opinion means a lot to me. You know that?”

By the time she goes to bed, Alaina’s whooped from the long day and falls asleep with her head on my lap as I’m reading the book ‘ _Callie Cat, Ice Skater_ ’ to her.

When I finish the story, I close the book gently and set it off to the side, and spend a moment just looking at her sleeping face. I had done as I promised and picked up detangling spray on the way home, and it had worked wonders for her hair. Right now, it’s lying smooth over her head in a way it hasn’t done in a long time, and I can easily run my fingers through the curls. People frequently say that she looks like me, and in this moment I can see it - her cheeks, her chin, and the shape of her eyes are all mine. As I gaze down at her, I feel an overwhelming sense of pride just in the fact that she’s mine and I created her.

I kiss her temple slowly and shift her head onto the pillow. “I love you,” I say. “I’ll always love you more.”

Of course, she doesn’t respond as I pull the covers up over her shoulders. I give her one last kiss and switch her bedroom light off, heading downstairs just as I hear a soft rap on the front door. I open it with a smile and see Jackson there with Chinese takeout in both hands.

“I come bearing gifts,” he says.

“Get in here,” I say, beckoning him forward. “I’m starving.”

“How was the little one tonight?” he asks, taking out the boxes and setting them on the counter.

“So good,” I say. “She even cleaned with me.  _And_  let me brush her hair.”

“Damn,” he says. “Sounds like a successful night.”

I open a box of rice and dish some out onto a plate. “It really was,” I say. “It was great.” I sigh happily. “How was yours?”

“Good,” he says. “I’m so tired, though. I can’t wait to lay down.”

I smirk at him and lean forward for a kiss. “Next to me,” I say.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I giggle and dig in the bag, coming across about ten fortune cookies as I reach inside. “Hey!” I exclaim, putting them out on the counter. “How did you know I’m obsessed with fortune cookies?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t,” he says. “I just asked for a few more because I love them.”

“ _I_ love them,” I say, kissing him again. “They’re so fun.”

“And great life coaches,” he says, laughing.

We talk about our days while we eat, trading stories about both school and the hospital. Once we’re full and happy, he helps me clean up the dishes and stretches with his arms high over his head.

“Are you sleepy?” I ask, padding up to him and wrapping my arms around his waist.

“Mm-hmm,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I bend my neck so I can look up at him. “Well let’s go up to bed, then. You need your rest.”

We pull back the covers and get into bed. I crawl over to him right away and set my chin down on his chest. “I told Alaina about us tonight,” I say.

He raises his eyebrows. “You did?”

“Yeah,” I say. “She took it well, actually. Way better than I thought she would. I’m really happy about it.”

“That’s awesome,” he says, curling a bit of my hair behind my ear. “Geez, now she’s probably gonna be bragging all over the classroom.”

I kiss him softly on the lips. “Sorry about that.”

I situate my body so it’s resting overtop of his, and he skims his hands around my waist to rest on the small of my back and keep me close. “You’re giving me a second wind, woman,” he says.

“I know,” I say, opening my mouth against his with a smile.

He dips his hands inside the back of my shirt, running up my bare skin slowly so he can pull the fabric off over my head. I’m braless underneath, and he turns us over so I’m lying down and he’s hovering over me, drinking in the sight of my naked chest.

“So we’re pretty exclusive now,” he murmurs, lips on my neck.

“Mm-hmm,” I say, running my fingers down his sculpted triceps.

“It’s kinda turning me on,” he says, and the insistent hardness pressing against my inner thigh tells me just how true that is.

“Wanna make out for a while?” I ask, framing his face with both hands.

“Forever sounds good,” he says, palming my breast.

I giggle into his mouth and wrap one leg around his, pressing the bottom of my foot to the back of his calf. “Arizona saw my neck today and freaked,” I say.

“What about it?” he asks mischievously.

“You know…” I say. “You’re obsessed with leaving marks on me.”

He chuckles darkly, mouth open on my shoulder. “I just want people to know you’re taken,” he says.

“I think you’ve made that pretty clear,” I say.

“You’re mine,” he says. “I don’t want anyone getting ideas.”

“You’re so possessive,” I say, scratching down his back. “I never knew that about you.”

“Learn something new every day,” he says, pressing lazy kisses across my sternum and then lower. I smirk when he covers my breast and sucks the nipple into his mouth, pressing his hips persistently against my groin.

“Stop…” I whine playfully, pushing up on his pelvis.

“We’re still on the sex strike?” he murmurs, moving his lips down to the middle of my ribcage.

“You’re the one who put it in place,” I say. “I’ve been obeying  _your_ rules.”

“Stupid-ass rules,” he says, finding his way to the band of my underwear. Today, they’re white with multicolored stars on them. “Cute,” he says with a chuckle, in reference to them.

“Shut up,” I say. “They were on clearance.”

“You’re a surgeon, you make way more money than me, and yet you’re still the cheapest shit I know,” he says.

“Enough out of you,” I say. “And get your hand out from between my legs if you aren’t gonna follow through.”

“I will, if you let me,” he says, looking up with a sly grin.

“We’re not doing that,” I say. “You’re supposed to be kissing me, and you’re tempting me instead. You’re a horrible boyfriend.”

He slinks up so our heads are aligned, murmuring, “Say that again.”

“What?” I say. “That you’re horrible?”

He shakes his head and laughs. “No, the other part.”

“Oh, you like that word?” I say, holding his face between my hands and grinning goofily. “You’re my boyfriend, Jackson.”

He closes his eyes and kisses me hard, tilting his head so our lips angle against each other. “I wanna make you come _so_  bad,” he says.

“Sex ban,” I murmur, trailing my hands down his sides.

“You’re blue-balling me,” he says.

“You blue-balled yourself,” I answer, moving my mouth lower to kiss his chin. “We should get some sleep, anyway. We have soccer in the morning.”

He plunks his forehead down on my collarbone and lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “You kill me,” he says.

I still feel his erection pressing into my thigh. “I’ll stay awake and wait for you if you wanna go take care of that in the shower,” I whisper, reaching lower to accidentally-on-purpose graze my hand over it.

“Fuck you,” he says jokingly, and awkwardly gets off the bed to walk towards the bathroom. I hear the water come on and giggle to myself as I change into my pajamas, and he comes back a few minutes later considerably calmer and smelling like my shampoo.

“You smell like me,” I say, gravitating to his side. “How was your hand?”

“Shut up. And I thought I’d wash up while I was in there,” he says. “Might as well.” He pulls my body flush to his side and I wrap my arm around his waist and squeeze. I kiss his bare chest slowly and he strokes my hair, eyes open and staring at the ceiling as mine are threatening to drift shut. “Is it gonna be okay that I’m here in the morning?” he asks after a long period of silence.

“Mm-hmm,” I say sleepily. “I’ll answer any questions she has. Don’t worry about it.” I pat his belly. “But it’s nice that you’re worried about it.” I give him another slow kiss on the chest. “Good night, Jackson.”

I hear him smile, if that’s possible, as he kisses my hairline. “Good night.”

“Sleep tight,” I say. "Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“The only bedbug here is you,” he says, playfully digging the pads of his fingers into my shoulder.

I barely have the time to laugh before I drift off.

In the morning, I wake up sweaty and sticky with a heavy man-arm draped over my middle. I try to turn over and situate, but Jackson has made that completely impossible. I grunt and lift my hips, trying to get the weight off of me, but he’s dead asleep.

I pick his arm up and give it back to him, but it finds its way back to me before I can fall back to sleep. I smirk and roll my eyes, then pick it up and return it again. “Get off me,” I whisper. “I know you’re awake.”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, making a sound low in his throat as he presses lazy morning kisses to the back of my neck. “Why are you so wiggly? Hold still.”

“Maybe because I wanna be able to breathe,” I laugh. “You’re heavy.”

“I’m hurt,” he says. “Fat joke.”

“Shush.”

He pulls me towards him so my back is flush against his chest after I’d scooted away, and hugs me tight from behind. “Morning,” he says.

“Hi,” I reply, and flip over onto my back so he can kiss me. I frame his face with one hand and smile up at him, feeling a thousand gushy feelings run through me as I look at his bleary eyes and sleepy smile.

I get up and change into a sports bra and leggings, tying my hair up as I walk out of my closet. “I swear you’re doing this on purpose,” he says from where he still lies on my bed, staring at me.

“Before Alaina wakes up on Saturday mornings, I do some yoga in the living room,” I tell him. “You can go back to sleep, if you want.”

He gets out of bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. “And miss yoga?” He laughs. “You’re joking.”

He sits on the couch while I go through my stretches and deep breathing, trying to touch me as many times as he can. I swat him away with a smirk each time, especially when he goes for my ass.

“You are insufferable,” I say. “How am I supposed to get centered when you keep groping me?”

“Guess you can’t,” he says.

Interrupting our banter, I hear soft footsteps come down the stairs and Alaina appears in the kitchen entryway with her blanket trailing behind her and her hair sticking up every which way.

“Good morning, my baby!” I say enthusiastically.

“Were you doing yoga?” she asks, padding over to deposit herself on my lap. She looks at Jackson - studies him, actually - from where she sits and looks up at me, our faces merely inches apart. “Why’s Mr. Avery here?” she asks.

I swipe her hair out of her face. “Remember, we talked about it last night? He’s gonna be around more because he’s my really good friend.”

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “Your boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” I say. “So he’s gonna be hanging out here a lot. That’s still okay with you, right?” She nods.

“And hey,” Jackson says. “Out of school, you can call me Jackson.”

“But your name’s Mr. Avery,” Alaina says.

“Avery is my last name,” Jackson says. “Jackson is my first name. And out of school, it’d be kinda weird for you to call me by my last name, right?” A tiny smile ghosts Alaina’s lips as she shrugs. “Try it out when you feel like it. I like being called by my first name when I’m not at work.”

“Do you call him Jackson, mommy?” Alaina asks.

I nod. “I sure do,” I say.

“Okay,” she says.

Later, the Flamingos lose their soccer game yet again, but no one minds too much. After the game is over, Jackson and I are standing in the parking lot after just getting major shit from Mark Sloan when he saw Jackson give me a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“I left a surprise for you at your house,” Jackson tells me.

“You did?” I ask, opening the back door so Alaina can climb in. “What is it?”

“Find out,” he says. “Find out, and I’ll see you tonight.”

“You’ll see me tonight?” I say, confused. “But we didn’t make-”

“I’ll see you tonight,” he solidifies, and gives me a firm kiss on the mouth.

I get into the driver’s seat still shaking my head, and head home without being able to stop thinking about what the surprise might be. When we get there, Alaina trots inside still in her cleats and kicks them off by the door, heading up to her room.

“Mommy!” she calls down, almost immediately. “Mommy!”

“What is it, honey?” I answer back, still hanging up our coats by the front door.

“There’s something on my bed!”

Concerned, I slip out of my shoes and head upstairs to find out what she means. I walk into her room and find her pointing at an outfit laid out for her - a long sleeved pink dress with a peter pan color, gray tights and black ankle boots - with a note next to it.

“What’s this say?” she asks, picking up the paper.

I read it out loud to her. “Alaina, be ready in this outfit by 5 o’clock pm. We’re going someplace special, and I’ll be there to pick you and your mom up. PS, tell her to check her bed, too. Your friend, Jackson.”

She looks up at me excitedly. “Go check your bed, go check your bed!”

We both hurry down the hallway to my room, where he’s done the same thing. My outfit is a tad different, though - black jeans, a teal spaghetti-strap tank top and a black blazer to wear overtop of that. I read my note out loud too. “April, put this on and be ready by 5. We’re going somewhere special, it’s going to be great. Can’t wait to see you both.”

I look at my daughter with raised eyebrows and an energetic expression, saying, “I think he’s inviting us out on a date!”

***

Alaina and I wait inside our front door dressed in the outfits that Jackson picked for us at 5pm that night. “Where are we going?” she asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a surprise to me, too.”

“Are you tricking me?”

“No!” I laugh. “I really don’t know.”

There’s a knock on the door, and we open it to find Jackson standing there with his hands behind his back. “Good evening, ladies,” he says smoothly. “You both look absolutely beautiful.”

I smile at him with a hand on Alaina’s shoulder. “Thank you,” I say.

“I brought something for the both of you,” he says, taking his hands out. “Daisies for the little lady, and roses for her beautiful mother.”

“Flowers!” Alaina squeals, taking them and breathing them in. “They smell so pretty.”

I beam down at my daughter and how happy she is. She’s glowing. “Thank you,” I tell him again, but I mean it so much deeper.

“Where are we going?” Alaina asks. “Where are we going, where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Jackson says. “But you have to keep blindfolds on in the car. That way you won’t peek ‘til we get there.”

We put our flowers in water and get comfortable in his car. He ties black material around Alaina’s eyes gently, then comes to the front seat to do the same to me. “Maybe this won’t be the last time I tie a blindfold on you,” he murmurs directly into my ear, and I flush red.

“Everybody ready?” he asks, and I hear him sit down in the front seat. “Remember, no peeking.”

“We know!” Alaina says.

I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes to resist any temptation. I lose track of the turns very quickly into the ride, and when the car comes to a complete stop and he throws it into park, I have no idea where we are.

“Okay, blindfolds off,” he says.

We do as we’re told, and Alaina cheers instantly. “Chuck E. Cheese!” she shouts, and I smile as I look over at him.

“You dressed me like this for Chuck E. Cheese?” I ask lightly.

“Hopefully that mouse doesn’t get any funny ideas,” he says.

We walk through the parking lot, Alaina’s hand tucked into mine, and burst into the arcade. Jackson buys Alaina a ton of tokens, even through my protests. It’s an insane amount that he gives her, and her eyes light up like Christmas morning.

“I’m gonna win everything!” she announces, jetting off to find a game to blow them on.

“You’re so sweet for doing this,” I say, sitting down at a nearby table. We put a pizza order in, and I stare at him with my fist resting against my cheek. “I would’ve never expected this.”

“That’s why I did it,” he says. “I knew it’d make her happy.”

I hold one of his hands on his lap. “Where did you come from?”

He kisses my cheek without answering with words, and that’s okay.

Alaina works her tail off and wins a ton of tickets, so many that they drag behind her when she walks up to us. We cash in her winnings for useless little toys that she’ll lose in a week, but right now she’s proud and happy. And that’s all that matters.

She sits on my lap while eating a couple pieces of pizza, and falls asleep once she’s done. I kiss the top of her head and wrap my arms around her back as her head rests on my collarbone, closing my eyes and just relishing the feeling of my daughter breathing against me.

“You rocked her world today,” I tell Jackson, who’s half-watching a puppet show happening across the room.

His eyes wander over to me with a smile. “You both deserved it,” he says.

“Shame I didn’t get to play any arcade games,” I say. “I could’ve schooled your ass.”

“Yeah, right,” he says. “Saved you the embarrassment, more like.”

“You wish,” I retort, rubbing Alaina’s back. “I would’ve made you feel so bad about yourself. It would’ve ruined our date, and I really didn’t wanna do that to you.”

“Full of shit,” he laughs. I look at him with shining eyes, and he tips his head to one side. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

I shake my head a little and look away. “I always look at you like this,” I say.

“Bullshit,” he responds.

I chuckle, leaning forward carefully to give him a soft kiss. “You’re the best,” I say.

“I do what I can.”

***

With each day that passes after Saturday, my mood gets significantly worse. My anxiety heightens as Wednesday - the hearing day - approaches. I bury myself in my work at the hospital to try and get my mind off it, but nothing helps.

On Tuesday night, I barely sleep at all. Getting up in the morning is a struggle, and I’m still rubbing my eyes and yawning as I help Alaina pick out clothes. We have a tiff over whether she should be wearing long or short sleeves, leggings under her skirt or no leggings, and I have to insist that it’s colder outside than she thinks.

When I drop her off at school, Jackson gives me a smile as he stands in the doorway of their classroom. “Hey, girls,” he says, then notices my solemn face. “Oh. Oh, god. It’s Wednesday.”

“Can I talk you in private for a second?” I ask. I wouldn’t normally ask something like this of him, but today is different. I’m not even sure how I’m still standing vertical right now.

“Sure,” he says, then calls to the teacher in the next room over to watch over his classroom for a second.

We walk down the hallway until we can round a corner to a deserted little area. “I’m freaking out,” I admit.

He wraps his arms around my shoulders in a tight embrace. “I know,” he says, pulling away to move a strand of my hair with his finger. “What time is it at?”

“Noon,” I say.

“Do you want me there?” he asks.

I look at him with wide eyes. “You… you have school, you can’t just leave.”

He repeats the same question with more poignancy. “Do you want me there?”

“I- yes, of course I do,” I say. “But-”

“Then I’ll find a way to be there. Text me the address of the courthouse and I’ll be there, a little before noon.” He checks both ways, then gives me a soft kiss on the lips as he holds my face. “If you need me, I’m gonna be there. I don’t want you to have to do this alone.”

My throat clogs up. “Thank you,” I manage to say.

I bid him goodbye and head back home to get myself together. I know looks matter - so I spend ample time on my hair, makeup and outfit. I want to look as put-together as I possibly can to make a good impression on the judge.

Just as I’ve finished curling my hair, my stomach jolts. I make eye contact with myself in the mirror then lean forward on the counter, willing it not to happen, but I know it’s going to. I rush to the toilet and hold onto the bowl with shaking hands and throw up everything I managed to choke down earlier - which was only half an apple and a few bites of oatmeal - and stay there on my knees just in case it happens again.

Luckily, it doesn’t, but I still can’t stop shaking. I’m so scared. I can’t lose Alaina to Matthew, not even a little bit. I can’t bear the thought of sending her off to his house against her will.

I wipe the back of my mouth and stand up straight, knowing that I have to leave soon. I have to pull myself together. I can do this. We’ll get through this. We won’t let him win.

I get to the courthouse and walk inside to find Jackson already standing there leaning against the stair railing, looking down at his phone. When he hears my heels clicking towards him, he looks up and flashes me a closed-lipped smile.

“Hey,” he says, wrapping one arm around my shoulders and kissing the top of my head. “How are you holding up?”

“Horrible,” I say. “How did you get away from the school?”

“I told them I had an emergency appointment. They hired a sub for the rest of the day ‘til after-school,” he says.

“You really didn’t have to do this for me,” I say.

“Yes, I did,” he says. “I wanted to, number one. Supporting you is important to me. And two, you’re my girlfriend. This is your kid, who you love more than life. I’m gonna be here for you. It’s scary as fuck. You need a support system, April, I got you.”

I manage a small smile. “Thank you,” I say.

He takes my hand and we walk up the stairs towards where the hearing will be and meet my lawyer outside the doors. We go through some preliminary points - today’s session shouldn’t last too long. We’re just laying the information out for the judge, and we’ll come back at a later date to get a decision. Still, it doesn’t help my nerves. I hate even being in the same room as Matthew, talking about the only thing left of the life we once shared.

Jackson sits behind me on the benches while the trial goes on. For most of it, I’m lost in my own head. I don’t have to do any speaking - Rachael does it all - but I can’t stop glancing over at Matthew. He and Leah are sitting beside their lawyer together, heads bent close whenever they whisper to each other. Burning rage boils in my gut when I see the two of them acting like some makeshift family. If I wouldn’t get thrown in jail for it, I’d knock back my chair, walk over there and beat them senseless.

But of course, I can’t do that.

I spend a lot of the time in there praying. With my hands clasped in my lap and my eyes centered straight ahead, I talk to God about what’s going to come of this. I try to find comfort and listen to what He has to say in response, but I can’t hear Him in here. There’s too much other stuff going on.

When it ends, I’m in a hurry to get out of that room. Rachael takes me aside once she walks out a few minutes later, ready to debrief me on what she knows, but as we’re standing there outside the door, Matthew and Leah linger close by.

“Not here,” I say under my breath, looking over my shoulder at them. “Someplace private.”

I leave Jackson waiting outside the door as Rachael pulls me into the women’s bathroom. “Judge McNary doesn’t like that you aren’t married,” she says, cutting straight to the point. “He’s old-school. He sees Matthew and Leah as a functioning married couple with 9-5 jobs. That looks great on paper. And he sees you as a single mom who works unpredictable hours, who depends on the after-school program when you can’t get out of work in time. That doesn’t look great to him, April. To him, it looks like you’re struggling.”

“I-...” I open my mouth to refute her, but I realize that I can’t. On paper, that is how this case looks. It doesn’t weigh in my favor at all, not when you look at it like that.

“It doesn’t all depend on that, though,” Rachael says, trying to comfort me. “You make more money than the two of them put together. The no-contact thing, that’s big. That has weight. But McNary also likes that Matthew wants to make an effort now, he sees that as a good sign. A change of heart.” She shakes her head. “I wish we would’ve gotten a female judge, but we can’t change that.” She plants a hand on my shoulder. “We’re gonna figure this out, I promise. The next hearing date will go better.”

I look into her eyes and try to decipher if she’s being genuine, but I can’t. “Okay,” I say weakly, and lead the way out of the bathroom.

Jackson and I sit on a bench outside the courthouse, hip-to-hip, not saying anything for a while. He runs his thumb over my hand - a small, comforting motion that I appreciate. When I open my mouth, it feels like I haven’t spoken in forever.

“It doesn’t look good that they’re married and I’m not,” I say. “The judge liked their work hours and how dependable they look on paper.” I stare down at my knees, narrowing my eyes as I feel the tears threaten to come. “It’s not fair. I’m her mother. I know how to take care of her. I… I know her.”

Jackson’s grip tightens on my hand, and when I look at him I see that his expression is very concentrated. He clears his throat and says, “So let’s get married.”

My heart drops to my feet and all of the blood washes from my face. I feel my hand’s grip go slack in his. “Jackson, what?” I stammer. “What are you talking about? You barely know me.”

He turns to look at me, and I realize that my body is trembling. “But I want to get to know you,” he says. “And you’re not you without Alaina. She has to stay with you, we have to make that happen. So if I have to marry you to date you, that’s something I’m willing to do.”


	10. Chapter 10

** JACKSON **

My mouth goes dry as April looks at me with huge eyes and pallid skin.

“You’re crazy,” she says.

I am. I am fucking crazy. But this is something that I really want to do. For her, for Alaina, and for myself too.

“Maybe,” I say, the sun shining down on us suddenly feeling way too hot even though it’s close to November. “But I don’t wanna take it back.”

She just keeps staring at me, saying nothing. I’m dying to know what’s going on inside her head, but I can’t read the expression on her face.

“I-I can’t,” she stammers, staring down at her lap. “I appreciate the gesture. I really, really do… but Jackson, that’s just not realistic.”

I wet my lips. “How? Why not?” I ask.

Her eyes flick back up to mine. “You can’t just… you can’t just ask me to marry you!” she says. “It doesn’t work like that.”

Her eyes are glistening and swimming with emotion. I know what I did was huge and sudden - we haven’t even exchanged ‘I love yous’ yet. But I don’t regret suggesting it, and I definitely don’t want to take it back now. “This isn’t a normal situation,” I say. “It’s not regular circumstances.” She turns to look at me and worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “Rachael said it herself. The fact that you’re an overworked, single mom gives them an advantage over you. So let’s take that away from them.”

She lets out a trembling sigh and clutches her knees, running the thin fabric between her fingers. She’s silent for a long time and I want to tear my eyes away from her, but I can’t.

“I don’t know,” she finally says.

I look straight ahead.

“I get what you’re saying,” she says. “I do. But it’s just… so much. That’s asking you to do so much.”

“You didn’t ask me to do a thing,” I say. “It was my idea.”

“I-I know,” she says. “But I brought you into this situation. This is all stemming from me. You didn’t ask for any of this, and if we get married….” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t live with myself.”

“You’re not giving me enough credit,” I insist. “I’m  _asking_  for this. I’m asking you to just let me help you, let me in. I realize that the last guy in your life completely fucked you over, but I’m not him. I’m not gonna do that to you.” I search her face, and she meets my eyes reluctantly. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” she says, wringing her hands. “But this isn’t like you asking me to prom, or even to date, this is  _marriage_ , Jackson. It’s sacred and important… this is huge. It’s not some small, little thing.”

“I realize that.”

“Do you?” she probes.

I nod. I can hold my own against her, even as she tries to push me away. I won’t let her do that. “I meant what I said, April,” I say. “You don’t have to answer right now. Take some time to think about it. If you need space, I get it. That’s okay.”

She stares down at the ground and kicks a small rock away with the toe of her shoe. “Okay,” she murmurs, then looks at the delicate watch on her wrist. “You’ll have to get back to school soon.”

***

We don’t talk all of Thursday, but I don’t freak out over it. I know April needs time and space to think, and she has other big things on her mind, too. The next hearing date isn’t until after Christmas, so there isn’t any imminent pressure, but I’m sure it still weighs on her. If it’s still weighing on me, it’s definitely on her, too.

Friday is Halloween. When I get to the school, I discover that I’m on crossing guard duty again due to the absence of Cecelia, and I shrug on the highlighter-yellow vest and stand at my post as all the kids get out of their parents’ cars. There will be a costume parade later, and I can see that some of them are wearing parts of their outfits already. I greet each of them warmly, comment on their clothes, and get them inside the school safely.

It’s not until the warning bell rings that April and Alaina pull up. Alaina gives me an excited wave and runs inside, and April lingers a few feet away from me. “Happy Halloween,” she says, a bit lacklusterly.

“Right back ‘atcha,” I say.

“Lainey’s dressing up as Tiana tonight, you know,” April says.

“I’m aware,” I say with a smile. “She’s very proud.”

She chuckles, then sighs. “She wants you to come over later,” she says. “She said you told her you’d do her makeup.”

It dawns on me that I had promised Alaina that I’d do my best with her makeup for tonight. I know my way around costume makeup thanks to my cousin, who was always forcing me to play princess with her even when I got too old. Even if Alaina’s face doesn’t turn out that great, I know it’ll be fun.

“It’s up to you,” I tell her. “I’d still love to come, if you’ll have me. I don’t have any Halloween plans - at least, not yet. If I tell Mark I’m free, he’ll probably take me to some Halloween party from hell.”

April giggles. “Doesn’t he have Sofia?”

I shake my head. “Callie and Arizona really like trick-or-treating. Mark likes booze.”

She nods knowingly. “Makes sense.” Her eyes skim up my body before landing on my face, and she says, “Yeah, come over.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “Yeah. Just come over after I get her from after-school. It’ll be perfect timing to go around trick-or-treating.”

I can’t help but smile. “Sounds good,” I say.

April gets back into her car and I watch her leave, wondering what kind of injuries she’ll have to deal with today. I don’t get to wonder for long, though, because the final bell rings and I have to make my way inside, shed my vest, and start my day.

Holidays are always fun in elementary school. They keep the kids in good moods and the Halloween costume parade goes off without a hitch. Not wanting to dirty her Tiana dress for later, Alaina dug out one of April’s old lab coats and put it on over her clothes, dressing up as a doctor even as it trails on the ground behind her.

I can barely handle it. This kid is the cutest.

When April comes to pick Alaina up, Alaina is practically bouncing with excitement. “Trick-or-treating! Trick-or-treating!” she chants. “Jacks- uh, Mr. Avery, you’re coming over to my house to put my makeup on, right? Are you still coming?”

She’s the last one to be picked up, so I’m gathering my things to shut down this place for the weekend. “I’m gonna be right behind you guys,” I say. “You lead the way.”

Alaina breaks her hand from April’s as the three of us walk out to the parking lot and falls back to walk with me. Effortlessly, she tucks her hand into mine and looks up at me with a sparkling smile that she gets from her mother. “Mommy, can I ride with Jackson?” she asks.

April looks back at us over her shoulder. “You’re gonna leave me all alone in the car?” she asks, pretending to be hurt.

“Please, mommy?” Alaina asks.

“Sure,” April gives in. “Let’s get your booster and put it in his car. Safety first.”

Alaina gets herself buckled in and April raises her eyebrows at me once her daughter is settled in my back seat. “You’re stealing my kid away from me,” she jokes.

“Guess I’m just cooler than you,” I say, shrugging. “Ready to get going, Laina?” I ask.

“Yeah, yeah!” she cheers, and I walk around to the front and get in.

“Meet you at home,” April says, and goes to get in her own car.

When we get to their house in Wicker Park, Alaina hurries out of the car and runs to the front door. “I don’t want it to be dark out when we go!” she insists. “Can we hurry? Please, please, please?”

April unlocks the door and Alaina blusters inside. “You run upstairs and bring your dress down,” April says. “Jackson will get the makeup ready.” She looks at me curiously as Alaina loudly tromps up the stairs. “Do you seriously know how to do makeup?” she asks.

“I’m not bad,” I say.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she says. “Don’t make my child go out looking like a hooker.”

“Aw, damn. That was my goal,” I say, and she rolls her eyes with a smile.

I can feel April’s eyes on the two of us as I swipe tiny brushes over Alaina’s eyelids to give her Tiana’s look. There’s an inspiration picture open on April’s phone that I keep looking at, and I think I’m doing a pretty good job with using greens, yellows, and silvers, and I give her a pretty pink lipstick, too. When I’m done with her face, April ties her daughter’s hair up in a twisted bun with little tendrils hanging down - something I could never dream of doing.

“I don’t know how you do that,” I say.

“Surgical hands,” she says. “After I had a girl, I knew they’d be put to some pretty different use.”

I smile.

“And anyway, you did her makeup… amazingly. I couldn’t have done that, not in a million years.”

“That’s why I wanted him!” Alaina says, holding impressively still while April sprays hairspray atop her head.

April holds heavy eye contact with me. “You made a good choice, baby,” she says. “Now, get your dress on and let’s hit the streets.”

Alaina leads the way to every house with their porch light on. It doesn’t take long after our trek begins that April reaches over and threads her fingers through mine, looking up at me with a sweet expression on her face as Alaina knocks on a neighbor’s door.

“What?” I ask, squeezing her hand.

“I’ll marry you,” she whispers.

I stop walking. Her words stop me dead in my tracks. “Wha… what, you will?”

She nods and kisses me sweetly on the cheek.

“What made you change your mind?” I ask.

We keep walking, now she’s holding my hand with both of hers. “Seeing you with Lainey,” she says. “You’re so selfless. You’re an amazing person. And yeah, we don’t know each other that well, but… I really, really appreciate what you’re doing for us. And I’m all in with you.”

I wind my arm around her shoulders instead of holding her hand and kiss the top of her head. “Me, too,” I say.

Interrupting us, Alaina trots down a house’s steps and showcases her candy bag. “Look! Mommy, Da-”

Her face blanches as she realizes what she almost said. She looks from April to me with wide, worried eyes. Her little fingers’ grip on her bag tightens, but April switches her mindset quickly.

“Let’s see what you got, honeybee!” she says, kneeling down to her daughter’s level. “Oh, you got a Reese’s. You know those are my favorite. I might have to steal that from you.”

Alaina giggles and swipes her bag away. “I’m only sharing a little,” she says.

“Alright, let’s see what else you can get,” April says. “I think I see this house’s light on!”

After Alaina’s bag is nearly full and she’s close to collapsing from exhaustion, we make our way home. I carry the candy bag and April carries Princess Tiana, arms situated under her butt as she rests her chin over her mother’s shoulder.

I stay downstairs while they do the bedtime routine, and April comes down a little while later. “She was falling asleep while I was washing the makeup off her face,” she giggles. “She had such a good night.”

“I’m glad,” I say. “You should see some of the stuff she got. She hit the jackpot.”

“You can have some, if you want,” she says.

“No, I couldn’t,” I say. “I don’t wanna steal from her.”

She laughs and plucks out a Reese’s peanut butter cup. “Speak for yourself.”

I stand across the kitchen island from her, and am about to speak before she beats me to it.

“So when do you want to do it?” she asks. “Get married.”

Hearing those words make my gut do something funny. “I… I don’t know,” I say. “When were you thinking?”

“Soon.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say.

She crumples up the Reese’s wrapper. “Tomorrow?” she suggests. “After the game. If Mark will have Alaina, maybe she can hang out with them for the day and we can go to the courthouse."

I didn’t know she meant  _that_ soon, but I’m up for it. The sooner the better. “That sounds good to me,” I say.

As we lie in bed a little later that night, I know she’s awake but neither of us are speaking. The house is so silent that I can hear the big clock on the wall downstairs ticking, and it’s unnerving.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice cutting through the darkness.

“Yeah,” she says. “Just thinking.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you nervous?” she asks, and I feel the bed shift as she turns on her side to face me.

“No,” I say, but then take it back. “Yeah. A little.”

“Me, too,” she admits, then reaches out to stroke my cheek. “We don’t have to do it, you know, if-”

“No, I want to do it,” I say, looking at her.

“Okay,” she says softly.

I extend my arm for her, and she presses herself against my side just the way I like her. I squeeze her close and turn on my side so we’re chest-to-chest, and kiss her forehead as I close my eyes to try and fall asleep.

***

After April asks Mark to take Alaina for another Saturday, he agrees and finds his way to me. “Avery, your woman seems pretty eager to spend some time with you,” he says. “Last time she would barely let me take the kid. Now she can’t wait to get you alone again.”

“Shut up,” I say.

“What do you guys have planned?” he asks.

I wouldn’t dream of telling him. He’d make a huge deal out of it and he wouldn’t understand. At this point, I’m not sure if anyone would understand, so we’ve decided to keep it to ourselves. “Just a date,” I say.

“Nice,” he replies. “Where to this time?”

I scramble for something to say, but I can’t come up with a lie in time. “I, uh, I’m not sure yet,” I say.

“You don’t have it all planned out?” he asks. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

“I’ll think of something,” I say, rubbing my hand along the back of my neck.

“I bet you’re just happy to get some time alone with her,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“It’s not like that,” I say.

“Hey, Jackson,” Arizona says, sauntering over. “Heard we get Alaina tonight. Is it date night for you and April?”

“The man doesn’t even know where he’s taking her yet,” Mark says out of the corner of his mouth.

Arizona laughs. “Probably to the bedroom. He can’t stay away from April’s neck, you should see those hickies.”

Mark guffaws. “That is my  _boy_!” he says, clapping me on the back.

“April, come here!” Arizona calls, and April turns to look towards us with her red hair fluttering in the wind coming off the lake.

“No - you guys, don’t,” I say. “Come on.”

“What’s up?” April asks, holding a dirty soccer ball under her arm.

Mark nods and smiles knowingly. “Yep, I see what you mean.”

“You guys...” I grumble.

“What?” April asks, the tone of her voice more on-edge.

“They’re gross and obsessed with our sex life,” I say. “Arizona told Mark about the-”

“You two are like horny high-schoolers!” Mark says, almost triumphantly. “I love it. Move your hair, Kepner. Let’s see the rest. I wanna see what my boy can do.”

“God, no!” April says, and flips Mark off playfully. “You guys are awful. Leave us alone.”

“That’s what I said,” I mutter.

“Oh, come on, don’t get all prude now,” Mark says. “Me and AZ were just shaming Jackson because he doesn’t know where he’s taking you out. That’s no way to treat a lady.”

April and I make eye contact for a brief second, but nothing goes unnoticed by the two we’re conversing with. “They totally know what’s going on tonight,” Arizona says. “They just don’t wanna tell us.” She lets out a long sigh. “It’s fine. Let ‘em be kids.”

Mark chuckles darkly. “Remember, Avery. Wrap it before you tap it.”

“God,  _shut up_ ,” I practically beg.

When the game ends, my stomach is jumping. We’d called this morning and applied for the marriage license, and they’re putting our information through until we can make it there later today. This is real. In just a few hours, I’m actually going to be married to the beautiful woman who I can’t take my eyes off of as she leans forward in her chair and packs Alaina’s stray things into her bag.

“Mommy, can I have a sleepover?” Alaina asks, walking between the two of us and Mark and his crew.

April looks up at Mark. “Just depends on what Sofia’s daddy thinks,” she says. “And her mommies.”

“Sure, why not,” Callie says. “What’s one more mouth to feed around our house? It’ll be fun.”

“Yay!” Alaina cheers.

Mark starts laughing as he socks me in the shoulder. “I wonder what Mommy and Jackson will do when you’re not at home,” he says lasciviously. “Hopefully they’ll find something.” 

“They’re gonna be so bored,” Alaina says. “But I don’t care! Sleepover, sleepover, sleepover!”

April kisses her daughter goodbye as she helps her into Mark’s SUV, and then waves to the lot of them as they pull away. She climbs in the passenger’s seat of my car, stares ahead for a beat, then looks over to me. “You ready?” she asks.

I put the car in reverse and drive back to her house, where she’ll get changed out of her dirty soccer clothes, then we have to stop at by my place so I can do the same. I wait in the car, and when she comes out, she’s pulling her jacket over a dark purple dress.

“You look great,” I say, leaning over and kissing her cheek as she gets in.

“Thanks,” she says, sounding a bit breathless.

I put on a gray button-up shirt and a pair of dark-wash jeans. April comes in with me and watches me do up my buttons in the mirror downstairs. I find myself unbearably nervous - so much so that my hands are trembling and I can’t focus on which button goes in which hole.

“Here, honey,” she says under her breath, walking over to me. She turns me towards her by my shoulders, undoes all the wrong buttons, and redoes them up again - going slowly. Once she reaches the top, I take her hands and kiss her fingertips, and she leans into me.

“I’m happy we’re doing this,” she says, resting her head against my chest. “I’m happy.”

“Me, too,” I say, resting a hand on the small of her back. “I kinda can’t believe it, though, either.”

She giggles. “I know.”

At the courthouse, we stand in front of a justice of the peace and listen to him marry us. We don’t have vows prepared or anything like that, so it goes reasonably fast. We just have to present our driver’s licenses, birth certificates and social security cards, and it’s that easy.

After the legality of it is over, I take April by her elbows as she looks at me with twinkling eyes. “You may now kiss,” the justice says, and I take her face in my hands to kiss her with all I’ve got.

We just got married.

***

Later that night, we tumble through her front door clumsily, kissing and groping with our hands all over each other. I smile against her mouth as she trips over one of Alaina’s rubber rain boots, and hold onto her arms for support. “Careful,” I murmur, pulling her coat down her arms.

She kicks the boot off to the side and tosses her coat on the stairs before ridding me of mine, too. We make it over to the couch in the front room, where I cover her body with my own and continue to kiss the life out of her.

“Oh, my god, Jackson,” she breathes, her hands flat on my chest as I bend to kiss her neck. “Oh, god, right there.”

“Whatever you say, wife,” I murmur, opening my mouth on the spot below her jaw that makes her go insane.

I expect her to respond with something quippy, but she doesn’t. I push it out of my mind and pull her shirt off over her head, peppering her shoulders with kisses as I go, then slide her bra strap down her arm so I have full access to her warm, freckled skin.

I dig my teeth into the soft spot at the crook of her neck, and she takes a sharp breath in. I smile against her and skim my hand over her stomach to rest on her hip. “I think my wife likes it when I bite her,” I growl.

I expected her to react positively, but she doesn’t. She pulls back from me and holds me at arm’s length, looking at me with her eyebrows set low and a serious look on her face. “Would you stop?” she says. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

I pause for a moment, then let a smile sneak onto my face. “April, I’m happy about this,” I say. “Not the circumstances, obviously, but still. You married me. That’s insane. That makes me insanely happy.” The look on her face lifts from serious to something lighter. “I’m so serious about this,” I continue. “I’ll do everything I can to be the best husband I can be for you. Even if it’s just on paper, even if later you decide that this is too much and you wanna split… I’m just so grateful that you said yes.”

She studies me for a long time, then holds my face in her hands to give me a soft kiss that turns more powerful as the moments pass. One hand leaves my face eventually and trails a path down between my legs, where it brushes over the bulge in the crotch of my pants.

I jolt towards her, eyes snapping open. “Hey, hey,” I say. “What about the ban?”

She giggles and tightens her fingers. “Well, we have to consummate our marriage, don’t we?”

I smile into her neck and lift her up off the couch, which makes her squeal. I hold her with one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders, looking right into her face. “This is the only proper way,” I say. “To bring my bride to the bedroom.”

“Be careful on the stairs!” she says, trying to watch where I walk. We laugh all the way to the second floor, and I deposit her on the bed ceremoniously.

“There,” I say. “I officially carried you over the threshold.”

“I feared for my life a little bit,” she giggles. “Come here. It’s been way too long.”

I strip off my shirt and join her on the bed, kissing her on whatever open skin I can reach. With my lips all over her, she works on removing her pants. As soon as her jeans are on the floor, my hand finds its way between her legs to discover that there’s already a damp patch on her underwear.

I run my fingers teasingly over it and she twitches in response, pulling her lower lip into her mouth. “Don’t be an ass,” she mutters.

“This sex ban has been going on for quite a while,” I say. “I can wait a little longer.” I snap the waistband of her underwear and say, “Can’t you?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” she says, sitting up with her knees underneath her body. She shoves me down on the mattress and yanks my jeans down my legs, throwing them to the floor afterwards. My boxers come next, and she doesn’t even bother with taking them all the way off of me before straddling my hips and lowering herself down onto me.

“Jesus Christ,” I moan, holding her waist firmly as she rocks back and forth.

“God, I missed you,” she says, flattening her torso against mine. She aggressively bites my collarbone and sucks the skin into her mouth - then does the same in a path up my neck. I can barely feel the pain of it, though - the feeling of her wrapped around me is much too distracting.

I flip us over a few minutes later and hitch her leg over my shoulder, thrusting into her as deep as I can. She throws her head back with her mouth hanging open and grapples at my neck, digging her fingers in with each pump of my hips. “Harder,” she breathes, and I do as she says. Her eyes fly open as she whimpers desperately, and she smacks my shoulder over and over again. “Right there, right there, right there,” she mutters, and I steal the words from her mouth as I press my lips to hers.

I come inside her while she’s orgasming, and collapse on top of her once we’re both finished and breathing heavily. She wraps her arms tight around the broad expanse of my back and leaves kisses from my shoulder all the way to my face, where she nibbles on my earlobe and laughs lightly right where I can hear her.

“Do you want to take a bath with your wife?” she asks, making her voice low and raspy.

The blood rushes to my groin all over again. I haven’t taken a bath since I was a kid, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to turn down one with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever set eyes on.

She leads the way into the bathroom after putting on a green silk robe, and as the water fills up the tub I play with the belt tied around the middle. She smacks my hand away, but wraps her arms around my waist and kisses my neck as I unapologetically grope her ass - taking generous handfuls of it as I pull her hips flush against my own.

“You’re already hard again…?” she trails off, brushing her fingers over my erection.

“I feel like a teenager,” I say, smacking her ass lightly. She laughs into my mouth. “Don’t you?”

She shakes her head. “When I was a teenager, the only boy I was allowed to think about was Jesus,” she whispers.

“Hmm… did you smash or pass?” I ask, smiling at my own joke.

“What?”

“Never mind,” I say, then look to the tub to see that the water’s high enough to get in. “I’m getting in here,” I say, and sink down into the hot water. I look up at her where she stands, insanely beautiful in that soft robe, and beckon her to join me. “Come on, baby,” I say. “I’m lonely.”

She unties the belt and lets the robe fall to the ground, making sure two fluffy towels are set on the counter for us when we’re done. She looks down at me up to my neck in bubbles and giggles with her arms crossed over her chest and her knees pressed together. “I don’t know if there’s enough room,” she says. “I’ll crush you.”

“I want you to crush me,” I say. “Plus you weigh, like, a pound. Get in here.”

“Okay…” she says, sticking in one foot at a time. The water rises as she lowers the rest of her body in, but only a little bit splashes over the side. She sits down with her back against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her chest to cup her shoulders in each hand and kiss the back of her done-up hair. I move my lips from her head to the side of her neck, and she arches it to one side to give me a little more leverage, and as she does that I slip one hand between her thighs and stroke her skin with my fingers.

She widens her legs for me and I bite on the slope of her shoulder as I push inside her. I go in as deep as I can from the angle I’m at, and can hear her breath leaving her in ragged gusts as she drops her head to rest the back of it against my shoulder. “You like that?” I whisper, right into her ear.

She nods, and I use my other hand to cup her breast lightly and skim over the nipple with my thumb.

“Does that feel good?” I ask.

She nods again, and I move my fingers in just the way that I know she likes. When I do that, she whimpers and pushes her back harder against me as she tries to widen her knees further, but the area of the tub prevents her from doing so.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I got you.”

I stand and shake my head at her confused expression as I lift her to sit on the lip of the tub, with only her feet in the water. I spread her legs again and open my mouth against her center, attempting to hold her in place with my hands on her hips as she squirms above me. It doesn’t take long for me to get her to come, and when it happens she digs her heels into my shoulders and slaps the granite counter that I set her on, lying back on its cold surface once she’s finished.

“Holy…” she pants, stomach moving in and out dramatically.

“Come back,” I say. I slink back down into the water and she sits forward on my lap now, her elbows straight over my shoulders. I look at her face with amazement and curl a bit of her hair behind her ear, kissing the apple of her cheek as I do.

“You’re looking at me in that way again,” she says, smoothing her thumb over my eyebrow.

“What way?”

She shrugs, thumbs on the front of my neck with her hands wrapped around the sides. “I don’t know.”

I smile softly and lean forward to kiss her jaw and the skin under it. “Can I tell you something?” I whisper, one hand sliding down her back.

“Of course,” she says, massaging my shoulders fluidly.

It needs to come out. I’m so overcome with this feeling that I can’t see straight, and if I keep it in I think I’ll go crazy. If she doesn’t say it back, fine. That’s fine. I’ll live. Maybe she’ll need time, and that’s okay. She just has to know.

“I love you,” I say, pulling my head up from her neck to look into her eyes. They’re wide and unblinking; framed by long, dewy eyelashes that are dark black against the hazel. As we’re this close with her hair slicked back from her head, half-wet, her skin looks more beautiful than ever - sporadically sprinkled with light freckles. Her lips are parted and they’re the perfect shade of dusty pink - right now, she looks like a painting instead of a real, live person. Her grip on my shoulders goes slack and I hear her gasp softly, so I feel the need to fill the silence. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to-”

“I love you,” she says, and her voice doesn’t shake. It’s a firm statement with feeling behind it, and my heart starts beating so fast that I think it might flop out of my chest and into the lukewarm bathwater.

“Yeah?” I breathe, kissing her firmly on the mouth. “You’re not just saying that because I gave you two orgasms, are you?”

She giggles and slaps my chest lightly. “Shut up,” she says, and kisses me sweetly. “No. I said it, and I mean it.” She pulls away from my lips and, while still holding my face in her hands, says it again. “I love you.”

“Good,” I say. “Because we are kinda married.”

***

A month passes, and pretty soon it’s a couple days before Thanksgiving and there’s already snow on the ground. It’s been awhile since it snowed this early, but all the kids at school like it, and it makes April snuggle closer to me at night. It’s a win-win.

I wake up on the morning of the 20th - a Monday - to find April lying next to me with her eyes already open. I smile down at her and close my eyes again, relishing the feeling of her body as she cuddles closer to me.

“It snowed more overnight,” she whispers.

I grunt to acknowledge what she said, but I’m still too sleepy to respond.

“It’s gonna be a bad winter,” she continues, kissing my chest. “Good thing I have a big, strong man to keep me warm.”

I laugh a little bit and she winds her arm tight around my waist. “Can I talk to you about something?” she whispers, and props herself up a little bit. She rests her chin on me and I can feel her eyes on my face, so I force mine open. Her face is bright and alert for how early it is; by this time I should come to expect as much. She’s such a morning person.

“Of course,” I say. “Morning, by the way.”

“Morning,” she says, giving me a slow, soft kiss. “I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving. What are your plans?”

I blink my eyes hard to wake myself up more. “Uh, I’m not really sure,” I say. “Nothing, really. My family gets together for Christmas, but my mom is gonna stay in Boston this year and have dinner with her boyfriend. She said I’m welcome to join, but…” I shake my head and chuckle. “I was gonna pass. Mark usually invites me over to have dinner with them, if I’m not busy. He’ll probably do that.”

She rubs her thumb in lazy circles on my chest, eyelashes fluttering. “Well, I wanted to ask if you’d want to come with us,” she says quietly. “My parents have a get-together in Moline, and I thought… I don’t know, I just wondered, I guess… if you’d want to join us. I don’t want you to be alone, number one. And two, I guarantee that my family makes a better Thanksgiving dinner than Mark. And also...well, I love you. And I want you there.”

“You want me to meet your family?” I ask. “Are you ready for that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, right away. “I’ve told my mom about you. Not all the details, you know. And my sisters, too. They all want to meet you.”

“You’re completely sure?” I ask. “For real?”

“Yes, Jackson,” she insists, looking at me with sober eyes.

I want to make sure we’re going at a pace she’s comfortable with, so usually it’s her calling the shots. I don’t mind, because rushing her is the last thing I want to do. About a week after we submitted our official marriage documents to the magistrate, I brought up the subject of moving in with her. It had freaked her out and she pushed back against me, saying that it would confuse Alaina and it was much too soon. I definitely saw where she was coming from - even though I’m here at the house with them all the time, it really was too soon. So after that, I’ve been especially careful with what I suggest.

So, the fact that it’s  _her_  bringing this up this makes all the difference.

“I’d love to come,” I say, pulling her body overtop of mine. I kiss her on the lips and run my hands down her sides, then rest them on her back under her pajama shirt. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course,” she says. “We just can’t tell anyone we’re…”

“That we’re married, I know,” I say.

“They just wouldn’t get it,” she says.

“No, I know,” I say. “Just like with everyone else. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” she says, caressing my face. “I love you.”

I had no idea what would go into a Kepner Thanksgiving. I had pictured all of them cooking in one kitchen in Ohio, but it turns out that Karen Kepner, the matriarch, sends out assignments of what everyone should bring so they can cook beforehand. So during the days preceding the holiday, when April comes home from work she’s bustling in the kitchen, cooking her ass off.

I do what I can to help out, but we both know I’m of no use. Even Alaina has more skills than me, having been used to this routine for her whole life.

“No, Jackson, you cutted them too big!” she says, about my celery slices that I’ve been dicing for the potato salad. “That’s too chunky.”

“Oh,” I say, then sigh. “Who has potato salad at Thanksgiving anyway? It’s a summer food.”

“It’s a Kepner thing,” April says, throwing the words over her shoulder as she crafts a pie crust from scratch. She’s made a pie each night this week - it’s getting past the point of excess.

“And how many pies could we possibly need?” I ask. “How many people are going to be there?”

“You never know,” she says. “Some years it’s like, 20, some years it’s 50. Whoever shows, shows. But the people you always know will be there are me and Lainey, obviously. Mom, Dad, Alice and her husband and their three kids, Libby, her husband, and their two kids, and Kimmie, her husband, and their four kids. So that’s… what? Oh, and Uncle Rick and Aunt Marge, on Mom’s side. Dad’s siblings are all gone now. How many is that?”

“Too many,” I murmur.

She giggles. “I  _gave_  you a choice…”

“No, no, I wanna be there,” I say. “I wanna meet all these crazy people.”

“I wanna see Aunt Alice!” Alaina shouts, and April smiles at her.

“I know she can’t wait to see you,” she says.

We spend the rest of the night cooking until Alaina has to go to bed, then package up all we’ve made this week in preparation to leave early tomorrow morning. “Do you want me to take the first shift driving tomorrow?” April asks, slinking her arms around my waist from behind to rest her head between my shoulder blades. “I don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel.”

“That’s probably smart,” I say, running my hands over her small wrists. “Me and Laina will probably both fall asleep.”

“Definitely, knowing you two,” she says, then walks around to the front of me. She wraps her arms around my waist again and looks up at me sweetly, eyes sparkling. “Thank you for doing this,” she says. “In advance. I know you’re not used to the big family thing, so… it means a lot.”

I kiss her while holding the side of her face in one hand. “One question,” I say, kissing her again. “Is PDA allowed?”

She lays a flat hand on my chest. “Minor,” she scolds. “Don’t grope my ass in front of my dad, how about that.”

“That can be arranged, I guess,” I say, pretending to pout.

In the morning, I’m woken up by the smell of perfume and gentle hands on my face. “Wake up,” she whispers. “I’ve already let you sleep in, but it’s time to start getting ready.”

I stretch my arms above my head and open my eyes on April - she’s putting on earrings as she looks at me, her hair is already curled and she’s in a holiday outfit, a black skirt with nylons and a cream-colored long-sleeved blouse. She looks classy and gorgeous. “You look nice,” I manage to murmur, sleep still clouding my brain.

“Thanks,” she says. “I laid out some clothes for you, too.”

I laugh and rub my eyes. “April, I’m a grown man. I can pick out my own outfit.”

“Well, I’m just nervous,” she says. “I want my family to like you.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, looking at the clothes she picked. Dark jeans and a button-up burgundy shirt, not bad. But still, I could’ve picked that out myself. “What makes you think they won’t?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she says. “They’ll love you. I’m just… I’m freaking out. I haven’t introduced them to anyone since-” She cuts herself off with a shake of the head that sends her curls tumbling.

“Oh,” I say. “Right.”

“So, that’s why,” she says, turning her back to walk into the bathroom. “I’m sorry if I’m a total annoyance today. It happens on holidays.”

“I can handle annoying,” I say, following her into the bathroom and turning on the shower. I strip down and get in, then peek my head out. “Wanna join me?”

She rolls her eyes. “You see me already all done up,” she says.

“It’ll be worth it… I promise,” I say.

“Stop,” she says. “Don’t make me think about sex today. I can’t. Okay?” She points at me. “Keep it in your pants.” She spritzes hairspray on her head and takes a deep breath in the mirror. “I’m going to wake up Alaina and help her get ready. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Once I’m dressed and put together, I make my way downstairs to find Alaina sitting on the steps, putting on her shiny black shoes slower than I’ve ever seen anyone do anything.

“Tired?” I ask, walking around her.

She nods without any words.

“I feel you,” I say, and put my dress loafers on. “Mommy’s got us up way too early.”

Somehow, we get all of the food in the back of April’s car, but she still insists on prattling off the checklist as we all sit buckled in, ready to go.

“Pumpkin pie.”

“Yes.”

“You have to say check,” she insists.

“Check.”

“Green bean casserole.”

“Check.”

“Cherry pie."

“Check.”

“Potato salad.”

“Check.”

“Scalloped potatoes.”

“Check.”

She looks at me, tapping her chin with her pointer finger. “Is that it? Oh! The wine. Red and white.”

“Check, check.”

“Okay,” she says, positioning her hands on the steering wheel. “I think we’re good to go. Everybody ready?”

She waits for Alaina’s response, but only silence follows. I swivel to look in the back seat and find that with her head lolled to one side, she’s already fallen back to sleep.

The drive is about four hours long, and I sleep for three of them. When I wake up, I ask April if she wants me to take over, but she turns me down. She likes driving. She likes feeling in control, is what it is, but I choose to keep that to myself with a smile. I listen to her sing along with the radio for the rest of the ride, and Alaina wakes up when we’re just a few miles away.

“Grandma’s neighborhood!” she says excitedly, recognizing the surrounding houses. It’s a quiet, suburban gathering of houses with a cul-de-sac at the end, and the Kepner house is right at the turnaround. It’s big with a brick face, and there are already a ton of cars parked in the front.

“Are we late?” I ask.

“No,” April says. “Everyone just loves to get here early.”

We park and I straighten my clothes once I stand up, smoothing out any wrinkles that might’ve formed. April comes around from the driver’s side and kisses me on the cheek, whispering, “You look fine,” before going around to the trunk. “Lainey, can you carry the cherry pie for me? Be very careful with it.”

The front door opens and I turn around with the sound, seeing a red-haired woman with an apron on standing there waving. “Alaina!” she greets. “Come here, let grandma help you.”

“I can do it!” Alaina insists.

“Okay, okay, well at least let me get the door for you.”

I carry as many things in my arms as I can, and let April lead the way inside. Karen is still waiting right there with a smile on her face, eyes watching me intently. My stomach is twisting with nerves.

“April, honey, you look beautiful,” she says, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “And you must be Jackson,” she says to me.

“That I am,” I say, smiling.

“Let’s get you to the kitchen so you can set those down and I can give you a hug!” she says, and as I listen to her, everything about April suddenly makes sense. I look at the walls as we pass through the foyer and see Jesus memorabilia everywhere - from crosses, to portraits, to verses quoted in frames. It’s a lot.

“There, just set everything down in a row and I’ll worry about the tinfoil in a minute.” I do as she says, and April does, too. “Now let me look at you!”

I stand in front of her awkwardly, then she wraps her arms around me in a big embrace. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, patting her back.

“Let’s get you introduced to everyone,” she says.

“Mom - no, really. I can do that. Can we just slow down a little bit?” April says.

They make strained eye contact, then Karen smiles. “Of course,” she says. “Come here, give me a hug. I’ve missed you! You’ve been so busy. I need to know everything about what’s going on in your life. And Alaina, too. Where’d she run off to?”

“I know she was waiting to see Alice,” I cut in.

“Oh! Of course,” Karen says. “We all know who’s her favorite aunt. April, would you mind helping me get the kitchen ready? I just need a pair of extra hands, then the sooner we can eat.”

April meets my eyes. “Uh, sure,” she says. “Jackson, will you help, too?”

“Of course,” I say, rolling up my sleeves to the elbow. She takes my wrist on the way to the kitchen and gives it a squeeze, and I’m comforted by that. I’m also glad she didn’t leave me alone out there. I’m not ready for that yet.

Karen barely takes a break to breathe as she talks to us. She asks about what I do for a living, how April and I met, and what I think of Alaina. I answer all of these questions honestly, and she seems reasonably pleased with what I have to say. She’s a teacher, too, so it makes her happy when I tell her the circumstances of how I came to know April and Alaina.

“Have you seen the new baby yet?” Karen asks April as she pulls a dish out of the oven where it had been warming.

“On Facebook,” she says. “But not in person. Is Libby here?”

“Of course,” Karen says. “In the living room. Go see the baby, I know Libby’s dying for you to meet him.”

April meets my eyes. “Wanna come?”

“Sure,” I say, and follow her out.

On the way to the living room, she takes my hand and squeezes. “You’re doing just fine,” she says. “I wish my mom would stop interrogating you, but… what can you do. You’re doing great. She loves you.”

“April!” Yet another redhead is sitting on the couch with Alaina and a couple other kids I don’t recognize at her side, holding a tiny bundle. “I was wondering when you were gonna come see him.”

“Hey, Libby,” April says. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Who’s this?” Libby asks, eyes on Jackson.

“That’s Jackson,” Alaina pipes up. “That’s Mommy’s boyfriend.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Libby says dramatically. “Well then. Aren’t you clued in, Alaina.”

“Jackson, this is my older sister, Libby,” April says. “Libby, this is Jackson.”

“Your boyfriend.”

“Yes. My boyfriend.”

Libby gives me a weird smile. “Nice to meet you,” she says.

“You, too,” I respond.

“Can I hold the baby?” April asks, and makes a spot for herself on the couch. I stay standing awkwardly, because there’s not really room for me and no one seems keen on moving over. I’m too uncomfortable to ask.

Libby hands the baby over and my stomach does a funny thing when I see an infant in April’s arms. She looks down into the baby’s face and smiles, and I can’t help but smile with her. She looks so natural holding a baby. I try to keep myself from imagining that baby as ours, but it’s hard.

“Isaiah, right?” April asks, cooing at him.

Libby nods. “It means ‘God is salvation,’” she says.

“What does my name mean, mommy?” Alaina chimes in, peering around her aunt to look at her mother.

April smiles at her daughter. “It means ‘bright light.’ Because you’re my little light.”

Alaina grins happily, satisfied with that answer. “Do _you_  wanna hold the baby?” she asks, and I realize that she’s asking me. “I already holded him. Aunt Libby said he likes me the best. But you can hold him. Right, Aunt Libby?”

“If he wants.”

“I- no, that’s okay,” I say.

April looks up at me. “You sure?” she asks. “He’s sound asleep. He’s not gonna cry. And you’re fantastic with kids.”

I sigh. I do want to hold him, but I don’t want it to be weird. “Come on, he’s not gonna bite you,” Libby says.

“Okay,” I give in. “Sure. Can I sit?” I find a place next to April and she carefully hands Isaiah over. As I hold his comforting weight in my arms, I feel her eyes on me - warm and unrelenting. “He sure is a cutie,” I say.

“It’s a Kepner thing,” April says, and she and Libby laugh together.

When it’s time to sit down for dinner, I’m between April and Alaina. I pick up my fork, about to dish myself some green bean casserole, but April grabs my hand and pulls it back firmly.

“Let us pray,” her father says, and I widen my eyes. I forgot. “Dear Lord, thank You for blessing us with this bounty of food. Thank You for bringing everyone together on this sacred holiday and giving our family safe trips here to Moline. We are so grateful that we’ve all made it another year to see each other here again, and are able to showcase our love for both each other and You. Thank You for our amazing family, the new members and the old, and for the new child You’ve blessed Libby and Keith with. Thank You for Your guidance as we continue throughout this year - please give us strength for the hardships we have not yet endured and give us grace to overcome the ones we’ve already experienced…”

In the middle of the prayer, April’s stomach grumbles loudly and I suppress a laugh. I squeeze her hand, and she kicks my ankle under the table.

“Thank You for Your presence in our lives, God, for creating this beautiful family tree and letting the sun shine down on us to help us grow each day. We are so very fortunate to have all that You’ve given us, God, and every day we are thankful for it, not just today. In Your name we pray, amen.”

A series of ‘amens’ make their way around the table, and finally we’re able to serve ourselves.

“So Jackson,” April’s father says. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to officially meet you until we sat down. I’m Joe.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” I say.

He smiles and dishes up turkey to his grandchildren. Alaina is already going to town on mashed potatoes beside me, gravy in a circle around her mouth.

“So tell me - how did the two of you meet?” he asks.

Karen cuts in before I can even open my mouth. “Jackson is Alaina’s teacher,” she says, smiling demurely at the three of us. “You know those crazy hours that April works - she hardly ever gets any time for herself, so she’s had to put Alaina in an after-school program. And Jackson runs it.”

“I was reading an article on those kind of government-funded programs,” a man across from me - I think he’s Kimmie’s husband, Dan - says. “I heard they might get cut. Some of ‘em, at least. In my opinion, it might be better. If all the government’s money is being poured into those programs, is that what I’m paying taxes for?”

I feel April tense beside me. “If you didn’t pay taxes for those programs, your niece wouldn’t have anywhere to go after school, Dan,” she says tersely.

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” he says. “Anyway, doesn’t she go to a Montessori school? Those aren’t government funded anyway, so-”

“But what you’re saying is that you’d rather pay a few dollars less in taxes than have kids with working parents have somewhere to go after school.”

“Well, it can’t be that hard for you to get off a little earlier, switch your schedule around,” he says, trying to sound amiable as he cuts the turkey on his plate.

“Yeah, let me just cancel my surgeries that are saving people’s lives,” April says, her tone biting.

“Okay, okay, enough,” Joe interrupts. “Enough of the politics talk. We were talking about Jackson and April - how they met. So Jackson, you’re a teacher?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Kindergarten.”

Kimmie sets her spoon down with a soft clink against her glass plate. I haven’t been formally introduced to her yet, but context clues tell me who she is. “Is it weird being a single man around other people’s families all the time?” she asks.

“Kimmie!” Karen scolds, and I feel my face heat up.

“I - um…”

April takes my wrist. “He’s not single,” she says, stroking my skin. “Are you deaf?”

“April,” Joe warns.

“What?” she says, flipping her head around so her hair flies. “She can’t talk to him like that.” She looks at me. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say under my breath.

“Can we all just take a breath?” Joe suggests. “This is supposed to be a nice family gathering. Let’s eat our food, turn on the game, play outside, do whatever. Anything you want except for fighting. Okay? Agreed?”

Everyone around the table halfheartedly affirms him, and we all dig in. Dinner doesn’t take long, and as soon as everyone’s done, the kids are begging for someone to take them outside and throw the ball around.

“Jackson, will you come?” Alaina asks. “I got the football.” She’s holding it under her arm, and it looks comically big next to her small frame.

“Football’s for  _boys_ ,” Kimmie’s son, Oliver, says.

“Girls can do whatever they want!” Alaina says, and I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder like a potato sack.

“She’s right,” I tell Oliver. “And if you keep up that kinda talk, we’re gonna use you as the ball.”

Alaina laughs as we all trek outside, and I try to assimilate my way into the clan of Kepner men. I’m playing football, which is more like ‘try and catch the spiral’ with all the kids and Joe, Keith, Dan, and Alice’s husband, Calvin, and we’re all having a surprisingly good time. Joe is impressed by my hand, which makes me feel good, and everyone is all smiles. I look up from the ground after Alaina tackles me, up into the kitchen window to find April and Karen washing dishes, smiling out at me. I grin back at them, and April waves at me with a dish towel.

When it’s time to leave, the round of goodbyes is a big production by the front door. All the kids want to hug me, which takes a while, and each of April’s sisters give me a kiss on the cheek. I wish I had gotten to talk to Alice more - she seems like the most normal one of the three - but I’m more ready than anything to head back home to Chicago.

“Don’t be a stranger!” Karen says, hands planted on my shoulder. “You’re welcome here whenever you’d like. You’re part of the family now.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Kepner,” I say politely.

“Call me Karen,” she says, and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

Joe shakes my hand and gives me a firm hug. “You fit right in with us, son,” he says. “I hope to see you back for Christmas.”

“Of course, sir,” I say, smiling.

April says her goodbyes to her parents and holds her nearly-sleeping daughter on her chest as we walk out to the car. I have my arms full of clean dishes that I deposit in the trunk, and she carefully buckles Alaina into the back seat atop her booster without waking her too much.

We sit in the silent car for a second, just decompressing before getting back on the road again. This time I’m in the driver’s seat, because April is exhausted after today.

“You know,” she says quietly. I look over at her and see that she’s smiling softly. “I can see us doing this again.”

I start the car. “I mean, I figured we’d be coming back for Christmas,” I say.

“No, no,” she says, turning towards me. “I mean like, coming back again. Next year, and the year after that, and the year after that.” She smiles and lets out a small breath. “I can see us being an us.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book ‘The Kissing Hand’ mentioned in this chapter is written by Audrey Penn and is not owned by me, all rights go to her!

** APRIL **

It’s late on a Sunday night as I’m sitting on the couch, my arms resting on the back of it as I watch the snow come down in blankets outside. Christmas is this coming Saturday, and Alaina’s break from school starts on Wednesday. The next hearing date is just after the new year, and I’ve barely been sleeping as the date approaches. It’s all I can think about.

I set my chin down on my wrist and sigh, then jump as I feel a hand skim over my shoulders. I turn my head quickly to see Jackson joining me with a soft, calm smile on his face. “You okay?” he asks. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Yeah,” I say absentmindedly, looking away from him and back out the window.

He rubs my back in slow circles, his eyes still trained on my face. “You sure?” he says. All I do is nod in response. “You’ve been pretty quiet these last few days.” I nod again, and he’s silent for a minute before piping up again. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I know why.”

“Well, it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist,” I mutter.

I don’t mean to take out my anxiety on him. I feel bad when I do, I know he’s just trying to help, but right now talking about it won’t do anything. It can’t fix this. He can’t always fix everything like he thinks he can. Most of the time I appreciate him trying, but not right now. Right now, I just want to be left alone.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks, right on cue.

I shake my head no.

“I can just listen, if you want,” he says. “I don’t have to give advice or-or anything. I don’t even think I’d have any. Just… know that I think this is gonna end up good for you. I think the courts are totally gonna rule in your-”

“I said I don’t wanna talk about it,” I say sternly.

He sighs. “Oh, okay.”

We sit in the quiet serenity of the falling snow for a few minutes, just being with each other and not speaking. At the moment, that’s how I prefer it.

“The snow just won’t stop,” he comments.

“I know,” I say. “It’s crazy. Do you think there’ll be a snow day tomorrow?”

He chuckles lightly. “This is Chicago. Of course not.”

I smile a little bit, having already known how he was going to answer. We’ve gotten good at that surprisingly fast, even though we’ve only been ‘married’ for a little over a month. On our one-month anniversary, Alaina had a sleepover at Mark’s and Jackson covered our bed with rose petals and lined our room with candles. It was very romantic.

There are a lot of things he does that make me think I don’t deserve him. And that once this is all over, he’ll forget what he saw in me and move on to someone else. When that happens, I won’t blame him. I’ve already promised myself that.

He showers me in kind words and praises every day - tells me things about myself that I could never see on my own. He tells me he loves me every chance he gets, and I love him back. So much. I just have a sinking feeling that he deserves someone who can give him more than I’m capable of.

It’s a horrible feeling - inadequacy. I haven’t felt it for a long time, not since high school. Since the end of that era, I’ve been much more confident. But now that the one thing I hold dearest is being threatened, that confidence is worn down and shaken. I don’t feel like myself. I feel like life in the way I know it is hanging in the precipice. I want to be working hard to get it back - get  _her_  back - though she hasn’t left yet, but I feel like nothing I do is enough. I don’t spend enough time with her, I work too much. She needed a father figure in her life, maybe I pushed Matthew away. As time passes, everything feels like it’s my fault. And I’m starting to believe those intrusive thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” Jackson asks, ripping me from my reverie. He touches my face with his knuckle and runs his fingers gently down my cheek.

Instead of pulling away, I lean into his caress. Moreover, I pull my legs out from under me and rest my entire body weight against him. He situates us so he’s sitting against the arm of the couch and I have my back to his chest with his legs on either side of mine, keeping me close and safe. I cover my face with my hands and shake my head, then feel him press a slow kiss to the back of my hair.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers, his words holding weight like a promise.

“Is it?” I counter, capping his knee with my palm. “I don’t know if it is.”

“It will be,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist. I lean heavier against him and he kisses my temple, stroking the top of my hand with his thumb. “You’re doing everything you can. For God’s sake, you married me for her. The court has to see how much you should win full custody.”

When he talks about the circumstances of our marriage, I get a metallic, blue taste of sadness in my mouth. That’s the only way I can think to describe it. Maybe he regrets the choice he made, just like I knew he would. Maybe he wishes he could take it back, that both myself and this situation are way too much for him to handle. He was a carefree bachelor before Alaina and me came along, and now he’s weighed down by the drama of family court. That’s no way for him to live.

“Do you wish you’d never done it?” I ask, voice trembling.

“What?”

“Do you wish you could take it back?” I say, rephrasing. “Marrying me. Marrying us, essentially.”

“Wait, hold on,” he says. “April, look at me.” He turns me around on his lap so my knees are on either side of his hips - usually when we’re in this position, the circumstances are much different, and that doesn’t go unnoticed by me. “Why would you ask me that?”

I shrug and bite the inside of my lip. “Why wouldn’t you regret it?” I ask, clasping my hands together.

He laughs incredulously. “You still don’t see it, do you?” he says, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“April…” he begins, reaching up to hold my face. “I love you. Not just that, I’m… I’m  _in_ love with you. So hard. With the risk of sounding super fucking cheesy, I fell head over heels for you. And Alaina, too, honestly. What you two have is so special. And...being with you is something I really treasure. It kills me that you think I’d regret it just because things are hard right now. Nothing could make me regret the choice I made in marrying you. I’m a grown man, I’m capable of thinking things through before I make decisions. And I thought this one through. I love you  _so_  much. I wouldn’t take back what we did for anything.”

“I love you, too,” I say, my voice small. “I really do. But love can’t fix everything all the time.”

“I know that,” he says, swiping his thumbs over the apples of my cheeks. “And I don’t expect it to. But it does help having someone here for you, in your corner, instead of being all alone. I’m always gonna be on your side, here to support you. That’s what a husband does. Okay?”

I nod slowly, and he moves his hands around to hold the small of my back.

“What else is on your mind?” he probes gently.

My lower lip trembles, and the first tears slide down my cheeks though he wipes them away before they can get far. I close my eyes and, with my mouth turned down, I say, “I’m so scared of losing her to him.”

Jackson hugs me close, and I press my face into his neck as I sob. I wrap my arms him and feel my body rack against his, but his grip never relents. He lets me cry as long as I need to without shushing me, and that ends up being a really long time. But he just rubs my back, kisses my hair, and is there for me. That’s all I’ve ever asked of anyone, and I’ve gotten it in droves from him. I still don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’m glad he’s here. I don’t know what I’d do without him as my anchor.

I pull away once I’ve caught my breath, and he looks into my eyes with an empathetic sadness in his own. He dries my cheeks and gives me a soft kiss on the lips, then gently directs my head down to rest on his shoulder as he runs his fingernails down my arms. Though it feels like the world is close to falling apart around me, right now I’m safe. And I just have to take life one moment at a time.

***

On the Thursday after Alaina goes on break, the house feels much happier. Tonight, the three of us concocted homemade pizzas and had a great time being chefs and pretending we were on  _Chopped_  - the house was filled with more laughter than it had been in a while. Now, Jackson and I are putting her to bed together.

“Alright, honey, pick a book,” I say, perching on the pink beanbag in the middle of her room.

She rifles through her bookshelf, and Jackson sits on the floor in front of me, his legs criss-crossed like a little kid. I shake my head and smirk at him, kicking him lightly with my bare foot.

“This one!” she says, crawling over with a book in her hand. She plops down on Jackson’s lap and he naturally wraps his arms around her and sets his chin on top of her head, and they both look ready to listen.

I look at the cover of the book. It’s called  _The Kissing Hand_ , and it’s one of Alaina’s favorites, but we haven’t read it for a while.

It’s about a little raccoon who doesn’t want to start school because he’s afraid of leaving his home and his mother, so she plants a kiss in the middle of his palm and tells him to carry it with him.

I keep my eyes on the pages until I get to the middle of the book. “Chester wiped away his tears and looked interested. ‘A secret? What kind of secret?’” I raise my eyebrows and look at Jackson and Alaina, who are both paying undivided attention to the story. “‘A very old secret,’ said Mrs. Raccoon. ‘I learned it from my mother, and she learned it from hers. It’s called the Kissing Hand.’ ‘The Kissing Hand?’ asked Chester. ‘What’s that?’”

I turn the page.

“‘I’ll show you.’ Mrs. Raccoon took Chester’s left hand and spread open his tiny fingers into a fan. Leaning forward, she kissed Chester right in the middle of his palm. Chester felt his mother’s kiss rush from his hand, up his arm, and into his heart. Even his silky, black mask tingled with a special warmth.”

I look at the two watching me and beckon them closer. “Come on, give me your hands,” I say softly.

Alaina goes first, eagerly outstretching her arm just in the way that the little raccoon did in the story. I plant a kiss in the middle of her little palm, and she squeezes her fingers around it. “Jackson, go, go, get yours,” she urges, and he does the same. I kiss him in the middle of his big, rough palm, and he gives me a sweet smile in return.

“Mrs. Raccoon smiled,” I continue, back to the story. “‘Now,’ she told Chester, ‘whenever you feel lonely and need a little loving from home, just press your hand to your cheek and think, ‘Mommy loves you. Mommy loves you.’ and that very kiss will jump to your face and fill you with toasty warm thoughts.’”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alaina slowly press her palm to her cheek and absentmindedly hold it there while continuing to listen to me. I turn a few more pages and get near the end, where the narrative flips around. “That night, Chester stood in front of his school and looked thoughtful. Suddenly, he turned to his mother and grinned. ‘Give me your hand,’ he told her.”

I flip the page.

“Chester took his mother’s hand in his own and unfolded her large, familiar fingers into a fan. Next, he leaned forward and kissed the middle of her hand. ‘Now you have a Kissing Hand, too,’ he told her. And with a gentle ‘good-bye’ and ‘I love you,’ Chester turned and danced away.”

I find myself getting a little choked up over these words, though I never have before. There’s just one page left, though, so I clear my throat and power through.

“Mrs. Raccoon watched Chester scamper across a tree limb and enter school. And as the hoot owl rang in the new school year, she pressed her left hand to her cheek and smiled. The warmth of Chester’s kiss filled her heart with special words. ‘Chester loves you,’ it sang. ‘Chester loves you.’”

I close the book and smile, sniffing in to keep myself from crying. Alaina smiles and flips around to cup her hand over Jackson’s ear, then they both smile mischievously up at me.

“What?” I say.

“Let’s get her!” Alaina shouts, and they both tackle me back on Alaina’s small twin bed and grab for my hands. Before I know it, they’re both pressing messy kisses to my open palms and after that, tickling and crawling all over me.

I can’t stop laughing. I’m no match for the two of them together. “Okay, okay, I give in!” I say. “You got me!”

Alaina collapses with half her body resting on my stomach, and Jackson rests beside me. My daughter takes my hand again and kisses it over and over, making sure that they’ll stay.

“You do it, too, Jackson,” she insists, and Jackson gives me one lasting, meaningful kiss in the middle of my palm.

“Now you got ‘em from  _both_  of us, mommy,” Alaina says proudly.

“I’m so lucky,” I say, pulling her to the head of the bed to tuck her in. “So lucky. I love you, honeybee. Sweet dreams.”

“Two sleeps ‘til Christmas!” she says excitedly.

“I know,” I say, kissing her forehead. “Close your eyes and it’ll get here even faster. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Night, Laina,” Jackson says, lingering by the door.

“Jackson!” she says urgently, outstretching her arms from where she lies.

“What’s up?”

She grunts, extending her arms again. I watch him realize what she wants, then lower himself down so she can give him a hug. As he pulls away, she yanks him back down by his face and gives him a big kiss on the cheek, then giggles. “You’re scratchy,” she says.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he mutters, running one hand over his cheek. “Night, Lainey.”

“Goodnight,” she sings, and I shut off her light and leave her door open a crack.

Once we’re back in the living room, I wrap my arms around his waist and look up at him, feeling like I might explode with love and warmth. “That was really nice,” I say.

“I can’t believe she wanted a hug from me, too,” he says.

I shrug one shoulder. “You make her happy,” I say. “She really cares for you.”

He plops down on the couch with a big sigh and gestures for me to join him, which I do. I lift one leg over his so I can sit on his lap, and he pulls my torso flush to his own the minute I touch him.

I hold the back of his neck and kiss him, tilting my head to press my lips against his at an angle, and he skims his hands to rest over my ass. I grin when he digs his fingers in to grip me tighter, and he accidentally kisses my teeth my smile becomes so wide. “I love you,” I mutter, grinding my hips against his lap.

He kisses my neck, nudging my chin up with his nose as he moves. “I love you,” he replies, making a path down to the open skin of my chest and tracing the V of my shirt. He looks up at me through his eyelashes and I kiss his forehead slowly, running my hands over his hair that’s gotten a little too long.

There are so many things I want to say to him, but I can’t figure out how to put together the right words. I also don’t want to be too cheesy, either, so I stick to channeling my emotions through my body.

He pulls my shirt carefully over my head and kisses the front of my shoulders, taking my bra strap in his teeth and sliding it down to rest just above my elbow. I lean closer to him and rest my arms on the back of the couch, and he nuzzles his face between my breasts and leaves open-mouthed kisses wherever he can reach. I let out a breathy moan and, as subtly as I can, push his face deeper into my chest, loving the way that his facial hair feels on my soft, sensitive skin.

He runs his tongue over the swell of my breast just above the material of my bra, and massages my lower back with his sturdy fingertips. I can’t help it - I start rocking my hips back and forth even as we both still wear our pants, and come to enjoy the friction I’m creating because of it.

Just as I’m about to come from simply dry-humping Jackson like a teenager, there’s a knock at the door. I flinch and gasp, surprised at who could be calling at 9pm on the Thursday night before Christmas.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asks, as I fumble to put my shirt back on.

“No,” I say. “Are you?”

“No,” he echoes. “I mean, it could be Mark, but I don’t remember ever giving him this address…”

I dismount Jackson’s lap and head over to the front door, taking my time and smoothing out the wrinkles on my clothes. It’s probably just someone whose car has broken down and they need to use a phone, or someone looking for directions.

But when I open the door and am met with the harsh December wind, I come to realize that it’s not anything like that. Standing at my doorstep dressed in a winter peacoat with a shiny wrapped present under one arm, is Matthew.

“Hi,” he says, his face red. It always used to do that - whether he was too hot or too cold, his face would show it.

I’m so caught off guard. I hardly know how to react, but I know I can’t leave this door open. It’s letting all the freezing air inside. “I - uh, come in,” I say. “It’s so cold.”

“Thanks,” he says, stomping his boots.

I stand tensely across from him, arms crossed over my chest. Jackson stays where he is on the couch, kept there by a small shake of my head.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I came to bring Alaina her Christmas present,” he says. “I figured since you’re not going to let us see each other for the holiday, I might as well drop it off beforehand.” He speaks with a smile, like what he’s saying is in any way acceptable.

“She’s asleep, Matthew,” I say. “It’s past 9.”

“I know it’s kinda late, but I figured… she’s on break. Can you wake her up for me?”

“No,” I say. “I’m not gonna do that.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “So you won’t wake up my kid, but you won’t let her see me on Christmas, either?” He shakes his head. “Really fair of you. You’re unbelievable - how you portray yourself to the judge as this innocent little woman who can do no wrong, when really it’s been you this whole time keeping Alaina and me apart.”

I laugh with my jaw hanging open. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who was cheating on me for basically her whole life-”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” he says. “That’s over with. It happened, it’s done. I’m talking about right now. This minute. My kid is asleep upstairs and you won’t let me see her. Or let her see me.”

“She doesn’t  _want_  to see you,” I spit. “Some nights she can barely sleep because of the nightmares she has about you.”

He narrows his eyes. “And I’m sure you do a real good job of putting nice thoughts about me in her head,” he says.

“I don’t need to make her think  _anything_ ,” I say. “You traumatized her enough when you up and left without giving her as much as an explanation, or a goodbye for that matter!”

“See - that’s what you do,” he says. “You bring up the past to avoid talking about the present. My lawyer said that you’d do this, too. Jesus, April, you’re so predictable.”

I kick the present that he set down near the entryway, and it falls over to its side. “Get out of my house,” I growl.

“I’m not going anywhere until you let me see my child,” he says, stepping closer to me.

Suddenly, Jackson is at my side speaking in low, calming tones. “Hey,” he says, hands outstretched towards Matthew. “I think we should all just try and take a breath. Maybe you can just leave the present here, and we can get it to Alaina in the morning or something.”

Matthew stares at Jackson with something that can only be described as pure disgust written all over his face. “I don’t need the guy fucking my wife to insert his opinion on what I do,” he snarls.

His words make all the blood rush to my face. If I were a different person in a different life I would go crazy on him, fists flying. But I’m me. I’m under the same roof as my child, and I can’t do that. But the anger inside me is still so hard to control. “Oh, so now I’m your wife again?” I say, my voice rising. “You’re fucking kidding me, Matthew... It was okay for  _you_  to be with other people, but not me now? You can go ahead and marry Leah, but now that I have someone in my life who makes me happy-”

“That’s not what this is about and you know it,” Matthew snaps. “And quit using that kind of language. It’s not becoming on you.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I say, nearly shouting now. Tears are pouring down my face and all I want is for him to get out of my house.

“You’re insane if you think that the judge is going to rule in your favor,” he says, voice booming. “Sleeping with her fucking  _teacher_ , of all people. That’s pathetic, April. That’s so low. And it must be confusing as hell for her.”

“What’s confusing is the fact that you’re horning your way back into her life after essentially forgetting about her for two goddamn years!” I shout.

“I never forgot about her!”

“That’s not what it looks like,” I say. “You just want her back so you have something to hold over me. You don’t love her. If you ever loved her, you would’ve never left her.”

“I left because I couldn’t stand life with  _you_ another goddamn second! I wanted to be with someone who would actually spend time with me, listen to what I had to fucking say! You only care about yourself, April, and it’s sad. You never-”

Jackson steps forward. “That’s enough,” he says, trying to break it up. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are hooded - it’s clear that he’s furious and trying to keep himself contained.

“No, don’t ‘that’s enough’ me,” Matthew rages. “I was talking to  _her_.”

I smack his pointed finger away from my face. “Don’t you get near me,” I warn. “I want you out of my house. Now.”  

Suddenly, I hear blundering, clumsy footsteps on the stairs behind us and flip around to see Alaina rushing down - her hair is askew and one of her pant legs is pushed up to her knee, it’s obvious we’ve woken her up from a deep sleep. She pushes past Jackson and me and collides with Matthew, smacking his thighs with her little hands. “Leave!” she says, her voice small and tinny as she tries to be assertive. “Go away, I hate you!” She looks back at me for reassurance, then starts sobbing where she stands.

“Look what you’ve done,” Matthew says, his voice scarily calm. “Look at what you’re doing to her.” He shakes his head, and Alaina starts wailing even louder.

I pick her up by the waist and put her behind me, stepping closer to Matthew. I can hardly restrain myself - I don’t know who to tend to first, I just want Matthew out of here. “Get out of my fucking house,” I say. “Or I’m gonna call the police. I’m not gonna say it again.”

“I want to see my daughter,” he says, unrelenting.

“If you knew anything about-” I pick up a stray umbrella in a basket by where we put our shoes, but Jackson gets it out of my hand before I can do anything detrimental with it. He pulls me from my ex-husband and I stumble backwards, away from Matthew.

“Leave it,” he says sternly. “Leave him. Alaina needs you. Leave it alone.”

I’m breathing heavily through my nose. I want to hurt Matthew as badly as he’s hurt us, I want to do  _something_  to him to make him feel that pain, though I know I can’t. I’ll never be able to equate it. “Fine,” I say. “Let me go, then. Let me go!”

Jackson lets go of my arms and stands between Matthew and me, but his eyes are only on mine as he tries to figure out what I’m going to do next.

My chest is heaving as I stare at Matthew, but I know Jackson is right. I let him alone and turn around to tend to my screaming daughter, dropping to my knees and enveloping her in my arms as tightly as I can while she continues to cry. I can’t help it - my throat clogs and I start to cry, too, just as violently as she is with my neck over her shoulder and her fingernails digging into my back.

I blink open my eyes, and through the tears I can see Matthew trying to peer around Jackson to see what he’s caused. That’s the truest way to put it - he caused this. If not for him, Alaina would still be asleep and Jackson and I would probably be fooling around on the couch. This would have never happened.

“Don’t even think about it,” I hear Jackson say. “You need to go. Now.”

“But-” Matthew begins, but Jackson cuts him off.

“Just leave them alone, okay?” he says, his voice much softer. I can barely hear it over Alaina’s hiccupping. “Give them this Christmas. Whatever happens afterwards is gonna happen, but Jesus Christ. Just give them this.”

There’s a strained silence, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” I repeat, over and over again like a mantra. “Shh, baby. I’m sorry you had to see that, I am so sorry.”

I pick Alaina up and make eye contact with Jackson, wiping my tears with my free hand. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, only to shut it again as I head up the stairs. I lay Alaina down in her bed and keep the light on as I lie next to her, curling my body around hers and pulling her close. Her cries have lessened to rattled breaths, and her eyelashes are stuck together with tears.

“Try and shut your eyes, honeybee,” I whisper.

She glances up at me, then fixates on a spot on the wall just past my shoulder as she sticks her thumb in her mouth. I close my lips and feel the pain from her action, and listen to her as she mutters, “I want my blankie,” through her thumb.

“Your blankie?” I ask. “Baby blankie?”

She nods, and I get up off the bed over her. She hasn’t used her baby blanket in years, not since she was three, at most. I stand up on my tiptoes to reach the top shelf of her closet and pull it down - it’s light pink in color and frayed around the edges, with her name and birthdate - Alaina Faith Kepner, April 26th 2012 - monogrammed in the corner in pretty script.

I climb back into bed with her and she takes her blanket and wraps it up tight in her arms. I kiss her forehead slowly and rub her back, and she gets as close to me as she possibly can. “Daddy is bad,” she mutters, still sucking on her thumb as she runs the fabric of the blanket between her fingers.

“I…” I find myself not knowing what to say. I purse my lips and close my eyes, hoping that the silence is a good enough placeholder for the moment. “Try and go back to sleep, honey,” I whisper.

Alaina nestles even closer to me, throwing one arm over my neck and tucking her head underneath my chin. It takes her awhile, but she does eventually fall back to sleep. I stay awake and Jackson comes in to check on us a little later, kneeling to press a kiss to my temple and rubbing my shoulder softly as he whispers, “Things will be better in the morning.” Knowing I won’t respond, he pads out of her room and into the one that we share.

***

I wake up in an empty bed on Christmas morning to snow falling outside the window and the sound of the piano coming from downstairs. As I lie there with my arms over my head, listening closely, I hear that Jackson is playing ‘Away in a Manger.’ I’m assuming it’s him, at least. If Alaina learned play the piano that well overnight, I’ll be very impressed.

I don’t bother with moving for a while, listening to him fluidly play the high notes as the song goes on. I hear a little voice singing along with him, so high and light that I can barely make it out, but when they both burst into laughter it’s much clearer.

I push the covers back and slide my feet into my slippers, pulling on my robe before descending down the stairs. The snow has been neverending these past few days, and it’s still coming down now. When I reach the bottom of the steps, I watch Alaina and Jackson before I make my presence known. They’re sitting hip-to-hip on the piano bench as his fingers are on the keys, and she watches his face to follow along with the lyrics.

Now, he’s playing ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ but his fingers stop when the two of them notice me standing there.

“Mommy!” Alaina cheers, rushing up from the bench.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” I say, running my hand over the top of her head. “Go sit back at the piano. I want to hear you sing this.”

She does as I ask, but looks up at me once she plops down, confused as Jackson resumes his playing. “But I don’t know the words,” she admits.

I smile and lean against the piano, watching her. “I’ll help you out,” I say, and sing as Jackson starts over. “ _Adeste fidelis… Laeti triumphantes… Venite, venite in Bethlehem… Natum videte regem angelorum… Venite adoremus, venite adoremus, venite adoremus… dominum._ ”

I wish I could bottle up the smile beaming from Alaina’s face as I sing and keep it forever. Her blue eyes are sparkling and though her hair's a mess, she’s never looked more divine. Jackson glances between us as he continues to play, and I keep singing until the song is over.

“You can sing so good, mommy,” Alaina says, hopping off the bench and stretching her arms up to be held. I lift her onto my hip, and she instantly runs her hand through my hair - something she’s done since she was a small baby in my arms.

“In Latin,” Jackson says, raising his eyebrows and rolling his eyes. “Such a show-off.”

“I didn’t know you could play the piano,” I say.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” he counters.

I shrug. “It’s just for fun,” I say. “I used to sing at church with the choir before I got so busy. Before this one was born, especially.”

“Did you sing with me in your tummy?” Alaina asks, as the three of us walk towards the kitchen.

“I sure did,” I say, setting her down on the countertop.

“I remember it,” she says, lifting her chin proudly.

“Oh, you do?” I ask, getting out the ingredients for pancakes.

“Yeah,” she says. “You singed pretty. You singed about Jesus and God.”

I smile at her and kiss her forehead. “You’re right, baby,” I say. “I did.”

Jackson leans on the counter by Alaina, elbowing her as he talks. “We’ve been up for forever now, waiting on you,” he says.

“We were hungry!” Alaina says. “But Jackson said we had to wait. But I had a candy cane.”

I gasp, pretending to be shocked. “You did?” I ask.

She giggles conspiratorially with him and nods, and I wag my finger at the both of them.

“Oh, your mom called earlier,” he says. “She says that the snow is too bad. They’ve been checking the weather, and it’s going to keep coming down, apparently. From here to Moline, it just gets worse.” He sighs. “She doesn’t want us driving in it.”

I stir the pancake mix. “Wait, she called off Christmas?” I ask.

“Until the snow stops,” he says. “She said maybe a couple days from now, if you’re still off work. They just want us to be safe.”

“I wanted to go to Grandma’s,” Alaina pouts.

“I know, I did, too,” I say. “But that’s okay, I guess. Can’t do much about it. What about your mom, Jackson?” I ask. “Is she still flying in today?”

He shakes his head. “Nope, not as of right now. Her flight got delayed ‘til the snow clears, and they don’t know how long that’ll be. Could be a few hours, could be days, like I said.”

I look between the both of them. “Looks like we’re having the tiniest Christmas celebration ever,” I say. “Just the three of us.”

“Can we still do presents?” Alaina asks. “And after presents, can we see if Sofia and her daddy and mommies wanna come over? Can we go sledding with them? Sofia said her daddy knows the biggest hill ever!”

“We’ll see,” I say, looking at Jackson. “Maybe we’ll call them and see what they’re up to a little later.”

“They’re probably snowed in, too,” Jackson says. “Might be fun. Something to do.”

“But let’s do our presents now!” Alaina says. “I’m gonna go put on my Christmas sweater!”

I laugh and watch as she runs up the stairs, then face Jackson again as I flip a pancake with ease. “So, you and the piano, huh?” I set a pancake onto a plate - a small one for Alaina. “That was sure a surprise to wake up to.”

He stretches his fingers out. “I’m rusty,” he admits. “I haven’t played in a while. I quit lessons after high school. My mom thought it would make my fingers nimble, back when she was grooming me to be a surgeon.”

“You? A surgeon?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. “How come I’ve never heard this before? What else don’t I know about you?” I’m so enraptured by what he’s saying, that I pour way too much batter onto the frying pan. The next pancake is going to be gigantic.

He chuckles. “Uh, I don’t know,” he says. “I just hate sounding like I’m bragging about it.”

“Why would you be bragging?” I ask.

“Um…” He pauses for a long time. “April, my grandpa is Harper Avery,” he says, unable to meet my eyes.

My mouth drops open and suddenly it all makes sense. His mom is based in Boston, where their main hospital is. His last name, obviously. And I remember him telling me something about switching his major from pre-med to early education and getting a ton of backlash from his family about it in his sophomore year. It all fits now, and I can’t believe I was so dense not to comprehend it sooner. “Oh my god,” I mutter.

“I know, I know, I should’ve told you…”

“When can I meet him?” I ask excitedly, holding onto Jackson’s wrists.

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “I knew you were gonna say that. He’s really not as great as he seems. He can be a real bastard.”

“A  _genius_  bastard,” I say.

He sighs. “Should I be offended that this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you?”

I crack up laughing and smack his shoulder. “Come on, you have to admit he’s pretty awesome,” I say.

“I will admit nothing,” he says stubbornly, then Alaina reappears in the kitchen, proudly posing in her outfit. She has on red leggings with a thick brown sweater on top, with a layered diamond pattern on the neck and chest.

“Mommy gotted this for me!” she says. “I never even weared it until now.”

“You look adorable,” I say. “I love that sweater on you.”

“It’s kinda itchy,” she says, scratching for emphasis.

“But you’re gonna keep it on for me?” I ask.

She nods.

I finish up the pancakes and we eat them without syrup as we gather around the tree. “Can I give mine to you first, mommy?” Alaina asks, pulling out a small, square-wrapped gift from beneath the tree. Most of the gifts under here are for her - Jackson and I agreed that we were only going to do a couple for each other, so Alaina got the majority.

“Of course,” I say. “Is this it?”

She hands it over. “Jackson helped me wrap it at school,” she says. “Everybody in my class all maked them. But mine was the best. Right?”

“Don’t tell,” Jackson says. “But definitely.”

Alaina giggles with her hands close to her face, watching me open it with anticipation. “Go faster, mommy!” she insists.

I peel back the paper to find a circular ornament with uncooked noodles glued onto it, spray-painted gold, framing her school picture from this year. She’s smiling widely with her hair back in two twin French braids, wearing a pink striped shirt and overalls. “Aw, look at this,” I say. “This is amazing. Thank you, baby,” I say, leaning over to wrap her in a side hug and kiss her temple. “I’m gonna hang it on the tree right now.”

“On the front!” she says, and I put it on full display.

We let Alaina take a long turn; she gets some new clothes from me and also a slew of toys she’s been dying for, and Jackson gets her a new bike. The one she’s been using has rusted-on training wheels and a horn that doesn’t work, and she’s been begging for a new one since summer. I guess he must have heard about it at school, too. Her new one is bright pink with tassels, it has a bell and a horn, even a basket. The tires are a clean white, and her smile lights up the room when he wheels it out.

“No training wheels!” she squeals. “A new bike! Mommy, Jackson gotted me a new bike!”

“I see!” I say excitedly. “I can’t believe it!”

As she rolls carefully around the house, Jackson comes back to sit down by me. I’ve given him almost all of his presents - new dress shirts for school, an expensive razor so he’ll shave off his beard, and a Rolex. I have one left to give.

“Your last one,” I say, handing it over.

“Hmm, very square,” he says, feeling the corners. “Is it a book?”

“Nope.”

“A DVD.”

“We don’t even have a player anymore,” I say. “Come on, just open it!”

He laughs and rips the paper, pulling it back to see what I’ve made him. I took the frame off of his desk just a few days ago, hoping he wouldn’t notice it missing, and filled it with a picture of the three of us from when we went to see Zoo Lights in Lincoln Park. The photo is a selfie of us in front of red, white and green strands of lights, bundled up in our winter gear. Alaina is in the middle of Jackson and me, being held up by each of our arms, and our smiles are wide even though it was beyond freezing outside. Alaina’s hat is falling down over her eyes and my hair is going everywhere, but it had been a beautiful night.

“Thought it was about time you filled that frame,” I say.

“Oh, god, I love it,” he says. “Look at her hat. I love it.” He looks up at me and leans forward on his hands to give me a kiss.

“No kissing!” Alaina shouts from across the room, zooming over on her bike.

“Oops, my bad,” Jackson says, chuckling as she zooms back away. “Okay, now time for mine,” he says, and stands up to pull a small wrapped box from where it rests high in the tree.

“Were you hiding that from me this whole time?” I ask.

“Yeah, because you’re short,” he says.

“Low blow.”

“You’d know all about those.”

“Ha, ha,” I say. “Okay. Hand it over already.”

“Whatever you say, small fry.”

“You better shut your giant ass up,” I quip back through my teeth, quiet so Alaina won’t hear.

He steals a kiss and places the small box in my palm. “Okay,” he says. “Open.”

I take my time with it, pulling back the deft corners until the wrapping paper is shed and what I’m left with is a velvet box with a golden clasp keeping it shut. I lift my eyes from it to meet his, and see that he’s watching me intently. The joking mood has faded. Now the room feels incredibly serious.

“Jackson, you…”

“Shh,” he says. “Just open.”

I pry open the lid, and nestled between two velvet cushions is the most beautiful diamond ring I’ve ever seen in my life. I gently pull it out and turn it this way and that in the light, and the diamonds shimmer and shine in the most gorgeous way.

“Oh, my god,” I murmur. “Jackson…”

“It’s a wedding ring,” he says. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, of course, but-”

I cut him off with a long kiss, holding his face with one hand instead of two so I can keep the ring safe.

“No kissing!” Alaina yells again, and I pull apart from him with breathless laughter.

“On the cheek?” I ask, making sure with her.

“Only on the cheek,” she polices.

I kiss Jackson’s cheeks over and over again, and I can feel his face get hot under my lips. When I finally stop, I hand the ring to him and make steady eye contact. “Put it on me,” I say.

“You wanna wear it?”

“Of course I do,” I say. “It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen in my life, and… you’re my husband.” I outstretch my hand. “Put it on me.”

He slips it on, and it fits perfectly. “I love you, April,” he says. “Merry Christmas.”

***

Later in the day, Mark and his crew head over. He pulls up outside as we trudge out in our winter gear, keys ready to take our own car to the hill.

“Kepners! Avery! Get in the car,” he shouts after rolling down the window, leaning across Callie.

“We can take April’s,” Jackson calls back, swinging the keys.

“No fucking way,” Mark says, then gets smacked by Callie. He turns around in his seat and says, “Don’t repeat that, Sofia. You know not to repeat Daddy. Also, don’t hit. It’s not nice to hit.” He narrows his eyes at the woman beside him. “No way,” he continues. “You’re not driving Kepner’s little doohickey on these roads. I got the best 4-wheel in Chicago. This truck ain’t going anywhere. No slipping. No sliding.”

“My car does fine in the snow,” I say defensively.

“I have plenty of room,” Mark pushes. “The sleds are already in the trunk. Get in the car, pinheads.”

“I’m not a pinhead!” Alaina shouts, but tromps through the snow to Mark’s big SUV anyway.

We all fit comfortably. With me in the middle of the very back seats with Arizona and Jackson on either side, Alaina and Sofia in the middle with their boosters, and Mark and Callie in the front, we make our way to the snow hills.

When we get there, we all file out of the truck and Jackson and Mark haul the sleds out. Alaina and Sofia each take one and run up the hill with them, and before chasing after the the girls, Jackson adjusts the collar of his coat as Mark chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” Jackson asks.

Mark shakes his head. “You two… I swear to god. I’m jealous. There, I said it. I am jealous.”  

“What are you talking about?” Jackson snaps.

“AZ, look,” Mark says, holding Jackson around the shoulders. “Avery’s not the only one with a possessive side, Kepner likes to mark up her man, too!”

“I knew it!” Arizona says, laughing lightheartedly.

“You guys really need to get lives,” Callie says, pulling on a hat with a pompom on the top.

“Seriously!” I pipe up.

Jackson shoves Mark and smiles. “Leave me the fuck alone, you asshole,” he says.

“Looks like you’ve got some sharp chompers on you, Kep,” Mark says. “Don’t bite him too hard. I need my boy here alive.”

I roll my eyes. “Can we just go sledding please?”

“ _Can we just go sledding please_?” Mark mimics in a too-high voice.

Jackson laughs and scoops me up before I have any say in the matter, throwing me over his shoulder as he runs up the hill towards the two little girls. I go limp against him with my eyes squeezed shut in laughter, our winter gear swishing against each other as he makes his way through the snow.

Today, I forgot about everything going on surrounding the hearings. Today, the three of us were a family.

Today, we were happy.

I had no way of knowing it, but nothing would be the same come tomorrow.

 


	12. Chapter 12

** APRIL **

When I was married to Matthew, I didn’t get nervous about meeting his parents for the first time. They were just normal people who led normal lives who raised a very normal son. But with Jackson, it’s a totally different story.

Early on the morning of December 26th, the skies clear enough for Catherine Avery’s flight to make its way to Chicago. I’m woken from a deep sleep by Jackson’s ringtone and his sleepy voice answering the phone, getting the details from his mother that she’s boarding now and when she’ll be landing. It’ll be a few hours, since there’s a layover, but she’ll need to be picked up from the airport before 10am.

When he hangs up, he sets his phone back down on the nightstand and rolls over to throw an arm over my side. “My mom’s flying in,” he murmurs sleepily. “Her flight’s about to take off.”

“I heard,” I say. “You gotta go pick her up?”

“Later, yeah,” he says.

“What time is it now?”

He makes a sound as he looks at the clock, only to roll back over to me again. “Almost 6,” he says. I turn onto my opposite side and hold him close, nuzzling my face into the warm skin of his neck. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He drags his fingertips down my back, letting them drift under the waistband of my pajama pants. “You sure?”

“I’m just… a little nervous, I guess,” I whisper. “Your mom is the only one who knows what we did. What if she doesn’t like me?”

He scoffs. “What if she doesn’t like you,” he mutters. “Number one, it’s impossible not to like you. You’re funny, gorgeous, sweet… not to mention, fucking brilliant.” I can’t help but smile at that. “And in the off chance that she doesn’t, who cares? My mom’s opinion doesn’t matter.”

“It kinda does,” I say softly.

“I married you, she didn’t,” he says, pulling back so he can look at my face. “I get to see you at 5:49 in the morning with your hair all messy and no makeup on.” He smoothes back my hair as he talks, and I feel my infamous blush creep up on my cheeks. “No one else does.”

“I don’t know  _why_  you’d wanna see that,” I say, darting my eyes up to his.

“Because I love you,” he says. “My mom will, too. Listen, I’m nervous for you guys to meet, too. I’m not gonna lie. She can be manipulative, judgmental and critical, but… she’s my mom. I want her to meet the woman I love, no matter what she thinks about what we did.”

“What  _does_  she think about it?” I ask.

“She knows the reason why,” he says. “But I didn’t go into much detail. She might ask a lot of questions. Which you don’t have to answer, by the way. She’ll make you feel like you do, but you don’t.” He curls some hair behind my ear. “Don’t let her make you feel small. You’re not small.” He chuckles. “Well, you are. But not like that.”

I smirk. “I’ll try,” I say.

“And she’s gonna love Lainey,” he goes on. “She loves kids. And with how smart Alaina is, they’ll hit it right off. You won’t have to worry there.”

“I’ll have to get a brush through her hair today,” I say, mostly to myself.

“It’s all gonna be fine, I promise you,” he says. “You guys can talk about surgical stuff. She’ll be over the moon - finally, someone she can talk medicine with. She gets tired of it all going over my head. You guys can bond over that.”

“That’s true.”

He props himself up on his elbow and hovers over me as I lie on my back. He strokes my cheek as he looks down into my face and kisses me slowly, resting his hand on my neck.

“We need our rest for today…” I trail off, but my words don’t hold much weight and we both know it.

He moves his hand from my neck to push under my shirt,  and it finds its way back up to cup my breast softly as he continues to kiss me. “We got plenty of rest,” he says. “It’s proven that early-morning sex makes for a better day. Scientific fact.”

“I know a lot about scientific facts,” I say, leaning my head to one side so he can kiss more of my neck. “And I’ve never heard that one.”

“I’ve proven it to you countless times,” he murmurs, squeezing my breast that’s still in his hand. “Haven’t I? Real-life evidence right there. Theory confirmed.”

I smile and roll my eyes. “I don’t know if we have time…”

“We have plenty of time,” he insists.

“I don’t know if we do…” I say, my voice lilting. “Her flight gets in at 9:45, I heard her say, and the drive to O’Hare is gonna take forever with how the roads are.”

He pushes the covers back. “At least let me go down on you, then,” he says, licking his lips. “It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, two days,” I say, eyes widening.

He pushes himself up on his elbows and presses his lips to my belly, then blows a loud raspberry on my skin. I squeal with laughter at both the sound and the feeling, and wiggle my legs underneath him.

“Stop!” I laugh.

He blows another one, then continues all over my stomach in short, staccato bursts. “Let me give you some amazing head, then I’ll stop.”

He gives me a look he knows I can’t resist as he settles between my thighs. I look down at him and pull my lower lip into my mouth, dragging my teeth over it slowly.

“Leave the lip biting to me,” he says, crawling up to kiss me and pull my lip into his mouth, biting it for emphasis. “God, you’re so sexy.”

He slips a hand inside my pants and runs it over the front of my underwear, and my hips jerk in response to his touch. “Fine,” I breathe. “I don’t know if I’m ever gonna be able to say no to you.”

“I’ve heard that I can be very persuasive,” he says, lowering his body back down and sliding my soft pants down my legs until they’re tangled by my feet. I’m wearing magenta underwear with white stripes, but soon they, too, join my pants at the foot of the bed under a mess of blankets.

I let myself get lost in the way that his mouth feels - he always knows just how to touch me to make me feel things I never knew I could. When I was with Matthew, I had counted the sex as good. Satisfactory, because I hadn’t known any better. But sex with Jackson is beyond amazing, and now that he’s set the bar, there’s no way I’ll ever settle for anything different.

As I come, he bites small sections of the sensitive skin on my inner thighs, and I’m left breathless and ready for more. “C’mere,” I pant, and he smiles devilishly as I pull him up to face-level.

When he pushes inside me, I feel every ridge of him and I love it. I tighten my legs around his waist and lean into the kisses he presses to the side of my jaw, trying to keep my moans at a reasonable level so we won’t wake up Alaina.

He thrusts his hips roughly as he looks into my eyes. “God, I love you,” he groans before capturing my lips in a sloppy kiss. “You feel so good.”

“God! Right there,” I urge, and he goes even deeper within me. “Right there, right there, right there,” I say desperately. “Oh, god, I’m gonna come.”

He makes me come for a second time this morning without even having to use his fingers, and takes his turn not long after. I keep his body atop of mine after we’ve finished, appreciating his dense weight as I run my fingers down his back and press lazy kisses to his shoulder.

“I love you.” I say it back even after a little bit as passed after he’d said it to me.

“I never wanna get out of this bed,” he says, rolling off to lay beside me. I find my underwear tangled by our feet and pull them back on before snuggling close to his chest.

“Me, neither,” I say. “I just want to stay in bed all day with my naked husband and make love until I can’t see straight.”

He chuckles and kisses me. “You’re the fucking cheesiest person alive,” he murmurs into my mouth.

“You love me,” I smile.

“Duh,” he says. “I love that hardass exterior that you show to everyone else that had me so intimidated. But on the inside, you’re just this mushy-gushy softie.”

“Me?” I ask, baffled. “No, you.”

“I’m the furthest thing from a hardass,” he laughs. “I teach kindergarten. You’re a goddamn  _surgeon_.”

“I am pretty cool.”

“Well, I didn’t say that.”

We both giggle with our foreheads pressed together, and I don’t even try to keep my hands off of him. Before we get up, we make love two more times that morning.

Afterwards, Jackson gets showered and ready while I lie in bed and listen to him go about his routine. I smile up at the ceiling as I hear him putz about the bathroom, washing his face and shaving it with the new razor I gave him yesterday. When he comes back out, he smells refreshingly like aftershave and his cheeks are soft against mine when he kisses me.

“I’m headin’ out,” he says, pulling away from my lips only to press another kiss to my forehead. “I’m gonna take my mom back to my place after I pick her up. You and Lainey wanna meet me there around noon? Give her a little time to settle in.”

“I can bring over some stuff to make lunch,” I suggest. “I’d say we could go out, but I don’t wanna make her go out in the blizzard.”

“Yeah, lunch at home would be great,” he says, smiling warmly. “Don’t be nervous. She’s gonna love you, okay? All I’m gonna do is talk about you on the ride back, guaranteed.”

I chuckle. “Only good things.”

“Only good things to tell,” he says, throwing the words over his shoulder. “Love you. Oh, look who’s up!”

In the increasing lightness of our bedroom, I see Alaina trudging in, rubbing her eyes. She looks up at Jackson and wraps her arms around his waist, and he runs his hand over the top of her hair.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he says.

“Why’re you not in pajamas?” she asks, squinting up at him. “Where’re you going?”

He smiles. “My mom is visiting today from a city called Boston. Her plane lands pretty soon, so I’m gonna drive to the airport and pick her up.”

“Can I come?”

He chuckles. “I think you gotta stay here with Mommy and get ready for the day. But you can meet her later, alright? You guys are gonna come over to my house for lunch.”

“I’ve never been to your house before,” she says. “Is your mom is gonna be there?”

“Yep, and she can’t wait to meet you.”

“Okay,” she concedes. “Did she bring Christmas presents?”

“My guess is yes,” Jackson says, eyebrows raised. “I gotta get going. I’ll see you guys in a few hours, though, okay?”

He waves us both goodbye and Alaina walks over to the bed, where she tries to crawl in just as I’m getting out. “Can I snuggle with you?” she asks.

I sigh. “Not this morning, baby. I gotta get up and get ready, and so do you. I gotta get in the shower.”

She follows me to the bathroom, lingering by the tub while I turn on the water. “Can I have my iPad?” she asks.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “How about you try and get a brush through your hair while I’m in the shower?”

She pouts her lower lip and her chin trembles. “But you let me have my iPad in the morning…” she whines, tears imminent.

“Just not today, Laina, I’m sorry,” I say. “You’ve been on that iPad too much during break. It’s gonna rot your brain.”

“No, it’s not.”

I quickly strip and step into the shower while still arguing with her. “No means no. I don’t know what else to tell you. Go pick out an outfit or try to get your hair brushed, or wait for me to get out so I can help you.”

“But what am I supposed to do while I wait?” she asks. “There’s nothing to do. I’m bored.”

With my head under the water, I close my eyes and try to center myself. “You just got a ton of new toys yesterday,” I say. “Go downstairs and play with some of those.”

“I don’t want to go downstairs by myself,” she says.

“Then, honey, I don’t know what else to tell you. You’re gonna just have to sit there and wait for me to get out.”

I hear her crying, but she doesn’t fight me anymore. This is the first morning in a while that she’s been a bit more obstinate than usual, and I have no doubt that it’s stemming from Matthew’s appearance a few nights ago. Well, maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s just her being five. I hate that I can’t tell the difference anymore.

I get out of the shower and wrap a towel around my body and my hair. I put my robe on after I dry off and walk with Alaina to her room, sitting on her bed while she stands in her closet. “Let’s pick something nice to wear to meet Jackson’s mom today,” I say.

“Something fancy?” she asks.

“Not too fancy, but a little bit,” I say. “How about the soft black dress?”

She rifles through her hangers, but looks back at me with a disappointed expression. “I can’t find it,” she mutters.

“I can,” I say. “Remember this: if Mom can’t find it, it’s lost forever. Moms can find anything.”

She giggles. “Every single thing?”

“Yep,” I say, and find the dress within a few seconds. It has ¾-length sleeves and the knee-length, black material is velvet. “How about this and your sparkly silver tights. That would be a great outfit.”

Once she’s all dressed, I sit her on my lap with the detangling spray in my left hand and the brush in my right and go to town on her matted curls. She whines and screams about it, but thirty minutes later, she’s all brushed out for the first time in a while. Now I have to get myself ready to catch up.

I get breakfast on the table for my daughter before going back upstairs and picking out something to wear. I can’t decide on anything, so I dry my hair, curl it, and put on makeup before I go back to my closet and stare some more. I finally end up with nice black jeans and a pretty patterned blouse, and by the time I’m downstairs and ready, it’s about time for us to leave. I don’t want to be late, and allotting enough time for travel on these roads is important.

“Alright, Laina, time to get shoes on,” I call from the kitchen. She’s on the couch in the living room, playing with two of her new dolls.

She looks up at me, then sits up on her knees to look out the window behind her. “It’s blizzarding,” she says. “I can’t even see our neighbor’s house.”

“I know,” I say. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

“How did Jackson’s mom’s plane see?” she asks.

“Maybe it wasn’t snowing above the clouds,” I say.

“How about when it got closer to the ground? What if it was gonna crash into the Sears Tower?”

“I think it could see where it was going,” I say. “Don’t worry about that. He texted me saying that she landed safely! No plane crashed into the Sears.”

It’s true, he had texted me a little while ago saying that they were heading back to his place and that everything was going well. My stomach is jumping with nerves and my palms are sweating, but I tell myself that everything is going to be fine. She’s just any other person, like anyone else.

Except that she’s not.

“Okay, so, shoes!” I say, trying to hustle my daughter. She tromps over to the shoe closet and finds her winter boots and I do the same, pulling on my long winter coat along with them. Alaina zips her puffy purple coat up to her chin and we walk down to the basement to get to our car that’s in the garage. “All buckled in?” I ask, glancing in the rearview. She gives me a thumbs-up and I open our garage and head out into the winter wonderland.

As we drive slowly along North Avenue to make our way to Lincoln Park, there are hardly any cars on the road. Still, though, I inch along to be safe. My car may not be as sturdy as Mark’s, but it still has 4-wheel, and I feel decently confident in it this morning.

“Can we have music?” Alaina asks, and I switch on the radio to our Rihanna CD. ‘We Found Love’ starts playing, and Alaina knows every word. She dances enthusiastically in the back seat, and I shake my head as I listen to her get into the song, flailing her arms like crazy.

“You are crazy, girlfriend,” I say, my hands tight on the wheel as we merge onto Lakeshore Drive.

We only have to be on here for a few miles, which I’m grateful for. This surface is slipperier than the inner roads because it’s so close to the lake, and I don’t feel comfortable on it. I do my best, squinting into the blinding snow, only seeing a handful of other taillights among us.

We’ve almost made it off when it happens. With a big gust of wind, I hear it before I see it. Tires screeching, lights spinning, and a huge impact before total blackness.

Before falling unconscious, I hear someone screaming as snowflakes melt against my skin.

I’m not sure if it’s me or Alaina.

** JACKSON **

The drive back to my place is slow and tedious. I hate winter driving because no one knows how to do it. It’s simple - just go slower and get it in your head that everyone else is going to make a mistake, and you’ll be fine. It would help if I could see, but there’s not much to be done about that.

“The snow is insane,” my mom says, sitting in the passenger’s seat with her purse on her lap. I’m used to seeing April there, so this is a little bit of a change. My mom hasn’t stopped talking for a single minute since I picked her up, so right now I find myself wishing that it  _was_  April in her place. I love my mom, but she’s a lot to handle. “Is it ever going to stop?”

“Probably not ‘til May,” I say, chuckling. “Typical Chicago.”

“That sounds horrible,” she says. “Boston’s not even like that.”

“It’s done that a couple times, if I remember,” I say. “I remember I had some snow days in April, back when I was school. It was crazy.”

“Speaking of April,” Mom slides in, smiling. I roll my eyes. “When do I get to meet her?”

“I told you,” I say, drumming my thumbs on the steering wheel. “She and her daughter are coming over to make lunch after we get home. Around noon or so.” I grin. “She’s excited to meet you.”

“I am, too,” she says. “It’ll be nice to put a face to this name you’re always talking about.”

“I told her about Grandpa,” I say. “She wants to meet him.”

“Of course she does,” Mom says. “I can’t believe she didn’t figure it out sooner.”

“I didn’t even tell her that I had once planned on going into medicine. She never knew that,” I say. “I guess she just didn’t put it together.”

“When you’re in love, you don’t think about things like names and lineage, I suppose,” Mom says. “She makes you happy?”

“Of course she does,” I say.

“Just making sure,” she says.

“I wouldn’t have married her if she didn’t,” I defend.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” she says. “I know the reason you got married.”

“It’s changed since then,” I say, staring intently at the road. “A lot has changed.”

“Like what?”

“I…” I press my lips together in frustration. I hate when my mom grills me on things I shouldn’t be grilled about. Marrying April was my choice, she’s  _my_  wife, and I’m proud of that fact. “We love each other, mom.” I say seriously. “We’re in love. She’s the one.”

“She’s the  _one_?” she asks, sounding impressed. “Lord have mercy, I never thought I’d hear my baby boy say that a day in his life.”

My face grows hot, but I can’t help smiling. At least there’s one thing she approves of.

“Well, if you feel so strongly about her, she must be a keeper,” she continues. “And she has a daughter, correct?”

“Alaina,” I fill in. “She’s five. She’ll be over, too.”

“That sounds great,” Mom says. “It’ll be a fun visit, all these new faces.”

“She’s nervous,” I say. “April is. So try and go easy on her, okay? No interrogating. Just, like… be normal. As normal as you can. Don’t freak her out; she’s going through a lot right now.”

We pull into my neighborhood and troll down the slick road. “I can handle myself, Jackson,” she says. “I’m not going to freak anyone out.”

I chuckle to myself, wondering how legitimate those words really are.

I get Mom settled at my place and she takes a rest while I get the kitchen ready for lunch later. When she wakes up from her nap about an hour later, it’s almost 1:30 and I haven’t heard from April.

“Is she running late?” Mom asks.

I look at my phone, like a message might magically appear at the mention of her name. “No, I… I don’t know,” I admit. “I haven’t heard from her.”

“Why don’t you give her a call,” Mom says gently. I know she can see the worry on my face - at this point, it’s probably not subtle.

“I tried,” I say, as I dial her number again. I lift the phone to my ear and hear the constant ringing, then her voicemail picks up. “It’s just voicemail.”

“Maybe her phone died?”

I shake my head. “She never lets it die. I don’t know what’s going on, I… I haven’t gotten a text from her since I sent her the one about being at the airport. That was over three hours ago.”

Mom’s eyes dart around the room as she tries to think of a solution to this. “I don’t know, honey,” she asks. “Is there someone who might know where she is? Someone else you can call?”

I sit down on the arm of the nearest chair. “Maybe she got called into the hospital,” I say. “I can call there, ask around, see if she did. Maybe she’s not answering her phone because she’s working - yeah. That has to be it.” A huge weight lifts off of my chest as I stop picturing the million bad images that had been running through my head. “She’s just working. She might even be in surgery, god, I don’t know. The roads are so bad, I bet there’s a ton of crashes. They probably need her.”

“Good thinking,” Mom says, watching me.

I dial the hospital’s number and the phone gets picked up by a nurse. “Rush Children’s, how can I help you?”

“Hi, um, my name is Jackson Avery… I was just wondering if April Kepner got called in today? She works in trauma, I was just thinking that maybe she got paged. Can you check if she’s there?”

“Hold on, sir,” she says. “From what I can see, she’s not… no, she’s not on the board today. She’s not scheduled to work until Tuesday.”

“She didn’t get paged?”

“Oh, one second, sir. You said you name was... ?”

“Jackson Avery.”

“Yeah, this is Jackson Avery,” the nurse says to someone who isn’t me.

“Let me talk to him. Jackson?”

I’m not sure I recognize the voice on the other end, but it’s not April. “Yeah?”

“It’s Arizona,” she says. I recognize the voice now. “I - um, you should get over here as soon as you can.”

I cut her off. “Why? What’s going on?”

“April and Alaina…. Jackson, just get here. You need to get here. They got in a wreck, and - and that’s really all I can say over the phone, I really shouldn’t even be telling you this. Just get here. You need to be here.”

I hang up the phone without saying anything else. I swipe my keys from the counter and, with my jaw set in determination, shove my arms into my coat.

“What’s going on?” Mom asks.

“I need to get to the hospital,” I say, forcing my boots on.

“What happened?”

“They crashed,” I say. “I don’t know much more than that. But they crashed.”

“I’m coming with you-” she begins, but I cut her off.

“No,” I say. “No. Stay here. I just need to go.”

She lingers at the foot of the stairs, looking helpless. “You drive safe,” she says sternly. “Don’t you speed. You will get there. I don’t want you crashing, too.”

I can’t respond. I just bid her goodbye and leave out the front door, making my way to the car.

I don’t remember the ride to the hospital or how long it takes. My brain is blank and numb - I’ve never felt more helpless in my life. I’ve already jumped to the worst case scenario - that April is gone and I’ve lost the love of my life before we could barely spend any time together. I lost her. I can’t believe I lost her. Is that why Arizona couldn’t tell me over the phone? Because she’s dead? She died, cold and alone, in the middle of a snowy road?

I bluster through the automatic doors into the ER covered in snow and am met by Arizona right away. “Where is she?” I demand. My chest is tight and I have no idea how I’m standing up right now. I feel like I could pass out at any second.

“She’s in a trauma room,” Arizona says. “Jackson, but you - you can’t see her.”

“Why?” I ask, voice rising. My eyes have glazed over with tears beyond my control. “What happened? Is she dead?”

“She’s not dead,” Arizona says, her eyebrows furrowed together. “She has a deep wound on her chest, she’s just been sutured. Only family can-”

I maneuver around her to start down the long hallway. “Can you just tell me where she is?” I beg. “Can someone just tell me what’s going on around here?”

“Jackson, you can’t see her,” Arizona says, pulling me back by my forearm. “Only immediate relatives are allowed, I’m sorry.”

“I’m her husband,” I say through gritted teeth. “We got married in November, she’s my wife. And I want to see her.”

Arizona looks at me with a helpless expression. “Jackson… I… you can’t just say this stuff, I can’t let you in.”

“I’m not lying,” I say. “I’ll pull up the records for you on my phone, for Christ’s sake, just let me see my wife!” Tears have started pouring down my face. I don’t have time to pull up the papers right now, nor do I have my own ring to prove our marriage, but April does. “Please, god, just let me see her.”

Arizona studies me for a long time. “Okay,” she gives in. “She’s down this way, but she’s not awake.”

My hands are shaking as I follow her, and when we stop in front of a room with an open door, I have to grip the wall for support. “Why isn’t she awake?” I ask, hearing how fragile my voice sounds. I’ve never seen April look smaller than she looks right now. She’s alone in the room, bandages wrapped around her shoulders and collarbones, her eyes blackened and closed. Her bottom lip is split and the bruising on her face maps down lower as well, I’m assuming beneath the bandages and possibly further. “What the hell happened? Can you please just tell me?”

“There was a car spinning out of control on Lakeshore,” Arizona says. “It hit them from the back. April slammed into the steering wheel and has some severe bruising and one large laceration, but other than that she’s going to be okay.”

“Why is she asleep?” I ask.

“We had to sedate her,” Arizona says.

“Why?”

“Because - Jackson, because of Alaina.”

My stomach drops to the floor and I hold onto the foot of April’s hospital bed. I can’t believe that she hadn’t crossed my mind, and I am a horrible person because of it. “Where - where is she?” I stammer. She must be so scared. I need to see her. I need the three of us to be in a room, together. We can get through this. It was just an accident. Everyone’s a little banged up, but they’re going to be fine. It was just an accident.

“She’s in OR 2,” Arizona says. “Alex - Dr. Karev-  is with her.”

“Alex?” I say. “Who the fuck is Alex? When can I see her?”

“Alex is a pediatric surgeon, just like I am,” Arizona says, but her voice wobbles as she tries to stay calm.

“Then why aren’t  _you_ up there with her?” I say.

“He’s got it handled. She’s in good hands. I thought it’d be better if I could meet you when you came in.”

I look over at April, then back to Arizona. “When’s Alaina getting out of surgery? Does April know? Does she know what happened?”

“She was disoriented when they were admitted,” Arizona says. “She was nearly violent. She was hurting herself worse.”

“What about Lainey?”

She shakes her head slightly. “She wasn’t conscious,” she says.

“She… she wasn’t…” Suddenly, I can’t catch my breath. “But she’s gonna be okay, right? What happened to her?”

“She took most of the impact,” Arizona says. “She had a lot of internal injuries and brain trauma. Our head of neuro, Dr. Shepherd, is up there with Alex, too”

“Is she gonna be okay?”

“We’re doing everything we can,” she assures me, but it doesn’t do much. “Jackson, you should sit. You look like you’re about to faint. Is there someone I can call? April’s family, maybe?”

I hold my head in both hands, staring wide-eyed at the clean, tiled floor. “They won’t be able to come,” I say. “Don’t worry them until you… until we know what’s…” I shake my head. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know. I don’t know what they’d want to know. I barely know them, we’ve met once.” My voice trembles and my throat clogs; and I feel spit bubbles form between my lips. “We’ve met once. I don’t know who to call. I don’t know what to do.”

Arizona leads me to a chair by April’s bed, her handle gentle on my shoulder. “Okay, okay, it’s okay,” she says. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out when April wakes up.”

I look up at her, feeling more vulnerable than ever. “What do I do now?” I ask.

She rubs my shoulder and looks into my eyes solemnly. “Sit. Wait. Be here when she wakes up, that’s all you need to worry about right now. We can take care of everything else.”

I nod shakily, gripping the side of April’s mattress. I feel like if I let go, I’ll tumble to the floor.

“Okay,” I mumble.

“I’ll come tell you if there’s any news on Alaina,” Arizona says. “I’m going to go up to the OR to see if there’s any way I can assist.”

“Okay,” I repeat, moving my eyes from the doctor to my wife. “I’ll stay here.”

“You stay here,” she says, and pats my shoulder a couple times before heading off.

When April and I are alone in the hospital room, the lump returns to my throat. I can’t stand how small and feeble she looks, all bruised and broken in her hospital gown. I feel so guilty. She and Alaina had been coming to my house to do something that would make me happy. If it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t have been on the road in the first place.

“Please be okay,” I whisper. “Please wake up. I’m here.”

She doesn’t bat an eye, though. Her face stays unmoving and I’m not sure where she is, but she’s not here with me.

Just this morning we’d been fine. We were ourselves - a normal couple with problems that are a little out of the ordinary, but we were healthy and we loved each other. Things should’ve just stayed that way. I should’ve never made her go out in the horrible weather. It was a stupid, selfish thing to ask.

It takes two hours before April stirs. I’m leaned forward with my forehead on the mattress, clutching one of her hands, and when I feel her fingers start to move I quickly sit up straight.

Her eyes are closed, but her lips are twitching. Her eyebrows furrow together, creating the crinkles in her forehead that I love so much, and her eyelashes flutter. “April, April, I’m right here,” I say, stroking her hand with my thumb. “I’m right here. You’re okay.”

It takes her a while to open her eyes fully, and when she does they’re clouded. She blinks them hard as she smacks her lips, and I hand her a cup of water with a straw.

She stares blankly ahead without drinking the water for what seems like forever, just blinking into the distance. “Wh… what happened? Where am I?” she asks, eyes narrowed.

“You were in an accident,” I say gently, one hand on her leg. “You’re at the hospital. You got cut up pretty good and you have some bad bruising, but other than that you’re fine.”

She takes a long sip of the water and a deep inhale, hand shaking as she holds the cup in front of her. I take it before she spills it, and her eyes become clearer as the seconds pass.

“Where’s Alaina,” she croaks, throwing back her covers and dislodging her IV in the process. “What’s going on? Where’s my kid? Where’s my daughter?”

She sets her socked feet on the ground, but I hurry to stand from my chair to stop her from going anywhere. “Sit down,” I say gently, directing her back to the bed. Trying to, at least - she’s fighting me with all she’s got. But right now, that’s not much. She’s weak, and the bruising and lacerations are hurting her. “She’s in surgery - Arizona has her.”

“I need to see her!” April shrieks belligerently. “Let me go. I need to see Alaina.”

She claws at my biceps, digging her nails in as sharply as she can, but I don’t relent. She can’t wander the hospital wearing nothing but a gown in search of her daughter - she’d probably burst into OR 2 and demand a scalpel. I can’t let that happen.

“Arizona said she’d come tell us whenever she knew something,” I say. “You can’t go looking for her!”

“Yes, I can,” she grunts, but suddenly stops fighting as her eyes center on something over my shoulder. I turn around to see what it is, and see both Arizona and Alex making their way towards us with sober, pale faces. “No,” April says, her voice low. “No. No. No. No.”

She pulls her arms away from me and stands in the middle of the room, her face contorted into a violent frown. She points her finger at them and, as the tears start to drip down her cheeks, spit flies from her mouth when she speaks.

“Don’t you say it,” she says, her voice trembling. “Don’t. Don’t you say it.”

“April…” Arizona says, as gently as she can. Her eyes are glassy, and Alex can’t even look at his coworker. But me… I can’t take my eyes off of her. Off of this situation.

“We did everything we could.”


	13. Chapter 13

** APRIL **

The first time I saw Alaina was, of course, in a hospital.

When I found out I was pregnant, it was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me. Matthew and I were young - I was about to turn 28. It felt like this baby was the milestone that was going to start my life. I was a surgical resident; to everyone else in my field, it looked like my life had already started. But I always had the feeling that something was missing - and that something was the baby growing inside me.

I was made to be a mother. Growing up, I had always been told that. I started babysitting as soon as I could and mothered all my sisters, even Libby. It was an innate instinct that I was born with; I was a natural caretaker and ever since I figured that out, it had been my dream to have children of my own. I was so looking forward to raising them the way I’d been brought up, in a loving and caring household with a great support system. I couldn’t wait to show them the world and teach them everything I knew.

So when the OB gave Matthew and I the news - that I was, in fact, pregnant - I couldn’t contain my joy. I flew into his arms and hugged him as tightly as I could with tears streaming down my face. I was so thankful, we both were. We had created life and were going to bring it into the world. We were going to be parents.

My pregnancy was easy, for the most part. The worst part was being on my feet so much as a resident, but I powered through. I insisted that I could. Kepners work through their pregnancies; I told my attending that my ancestors dropped them in fields. I could handle working up until the very last moment, if need be. And I basically almost did - I didn’t go on maternity leave until the second week into my eighth month, when my body was just too heavy for me to carry around anymore. After that, I stayed at home and made the house everything it would need to be for the baby that would soon inhabit it. I went crazy with nesting while Matthew was at work and thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Her nursery was one to marvel at. Matthew painted the walls a gentle pink, and all of her furniture was white. A white crib, white changing table, white rocking chair with a pink cushion in the corner where I’d lull her to sleep on so many nights. With the windows open, the sheers blew in the breeze and created a magical feeling. On long days where I was home alone, I’d just sit in the rocking chair and picture what our lives would look like in this room a few weeks into the future.

I loved being pregnant. I really did. But what I loved more was when she was born, when I could look into her little face and fall in love with her.

My body had never been through pain like that of childbirth. Everyone says it hurts, but there aren’t words in the English language to describe that  level of pain. But as I lay there, spent and worn-out, her cry had brought me back to life.

They cleaned her, wrapped her up, and the moment her body was placed on my chest I changed as a person. I was no longer just April Kepner, MD. I was a mother. I was  _her_  mother.

“What are you going to call her?” the nurse had asked, holding a clipboard while looking down at Matthew and I as we marveled over our brand-new baby girl.

I ran my finger along the seam of her hat, then lower to touch her cheek. Her skin was impossibly soft. It was hard to wrap my mind around the fact that she had spent 9 months inside of me, safely growing, and now she was out in the world. The same world that everyone else lived in, our baby now lived in, too. It was a strange concept. I was overcome with the feeling of protectiveness - I knew what this world was made of. She didn’t, not yet. I had to keep her safe from it. I never wanted to let her go or let her out of my sight, not ever.

Matthew and I made eye contact and smiled at each other. We had been through the name book time and time again, and I had eventually been the one to choose.

“Alaina,” I said softly, watching her perfect blue eyes blink slowly as she stared at me. “Alaina Faith.” I smiled at the nurse as she wrote it down.

“That’s lovely,” she said.

“It means bright, bright light,” I said, first looking to the nurse then back down at my newborn. Her mouth was open in a yawn, and I lowered my face close to hers so I could gently kiss her. “Hello, my little light,” I whispered.

The first time I met my daughter was in a hospital, such is common for most mothers and their babies. What isn’t common is saying goodbye to your child in one. Her life was not supposed to end in the same place it began.

My little light has gone out.

***

I feel like I’m in a fishbowl, removed from the situation. My chest hurts with a dull, stabbing pain, and my joints are sore and creaky. I’m lost inside my own head, watching Arizona speak just feet away from me. I can’t hear a word she’s saying - I see her mouth moving, but no sound comes from it. I keep staring, though. Maybe I’m in a dream, it would make sense as to why I feel this way. Trapped in a bubble. Unable to move or respond.

 _We did everything we could_.

What is everything? Everything in their mind might’ve been different than my everything. What injuries did she sustain? Did they have enough people assisting?

Did someone hold her hand while they gave her anaesthesia? Was she unconscious? Did she know what was happening?

Did she feel alone when it happened? Was she scared? Did she cry out for help only to have me not answer?

Did she feel any pain?

I start to breathe heavier as these questions whip and slash through my mind at warp speed. My knees go wobbly and I drop to my hospital bed, landing hard on my butt. Jackson takes my shoulder, but I jolt him off.

“Kepner, you have to breathe.” The voice is gentle but assertive, and I lift my eyes to see that Alex is sitting next to me. He’s not touching me, but he’s making heavy eye contact. “Breathe.”

How can I breathe now? How am I supposed to breathe when my child isn’t?

My chest rattles as those same questions keep replaying. I part my dry lips to ask them out loud, but the only sound that escapes me is a tiny crack of my voice. I can’t speak.

This can’t be happening. Alaina’s in the other room, going through post-op. Her surgery went fine. She had some internal bleeding, but Alex fixed it right up. There was some head trauma, but nothing that Amelia couldn’t handle. She might have some fuzzy memory upon waking, but it would come back. She’ll be fine. She’s a kid, they heal fast. She’ll be back to normal before we know it.

“Can I see her?” I ask, sounding raspy.

Without realizing it, I had interrupted whatever Arizona had been saying. She blinks, surprised, and her facial expression changes to something I’ve only seen her wear towards distressed patients. That makes me confused - I’m not a distressed patient, I’m her coworker. I’m the mother of a little girl who’s probably wondering where I am.

“April, she’s…” Arizona begins.

Not awake. Probably not awake, but I don’t care. As long as I can sit by her bed and be there when she opens her eyes, I’ll feel better. Once I’m in the same room as Alaina, I know I’ll feel better.

“If you just get me a wheelchair, Jackson can push me,” I say. “I won’t walk. I know you don’t want me to walk.”

Alex is shaking his head, staring down at his knees. “Kepner, it’s not like that.”

“What?” I say. “What do you mean?” I push myself up to a standing position again. “What room is she in? I’ll find her myself. You don’t have to waste any more time on me. I can find her.”

Alex gently pulls me back down to sit. “She’s not in a recovery room,” he says. I blink quickly as my brain tries to piece together what he’s saying. “She didn’t make it. We did everything we could.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, no. You’re wrong. She did make it. I would know if she didn’t make it, I would know it. I would  _feel_  it. And I don’t feel anything.” I start to breathe heavier. “What aren’t you telling me? Did she lose a limb? Does she have amnesia? That goes away. Anything is fine. I can handle whatever happened. Just tell me.”

“April…” Arizona says, meeting my eyes. Hers are a piercing blue, and I find myself unable to look for too long. Her gaze darts to Jackson, who’s sitting down at my side, near the pillow.

“They’re trying to tell you that… Alaina died from her injuries, April. She died in surgery,” Jackson says.  

I gasp and turn towards him. “Don’t say that,” I spit. “Why would you say that?”

“April, you’re confused…” Arizona says. “We should have waited, I’m sorry. This is all so much. It’s a lot to handle, we should have waited to tell you until you had more time for your head to clear. You’re confused, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not confused,” I retort. “The only thing that’s confusing me is the fact that you won’t let me see my child.”

“She’s in a holding room on floor 5, Kepner,” Alex says sternly. I whip in his direction to see that he’s staring at the floor with his jaw clenched. “If you wanna see her, she’s in the freakin’ holding rooms.” With that, he storms out of my room with his lab coat fluttering behind him.

The air sits silent now. My shoulders hunch forward and my hands lay palms-open on my lap. I shake my head as I stammer, “She’s… she’s…” Arizona answers me by nodding. My eyes burn and my throat closes up, but still I say, “I need to see her.”

“Dr. Karev just said-” Jackson begins, but I cut him off.

“I know what he said!” I shout. “I need to see her. The only way that I’m gonna know she’s  _gone_  is if I see her. I want to see my daughter. Now.”

Though it’s technically not allowed for patients, Arizona wheels me to the holding rooms a few floors up against her better judgment. Jackson comes, too.

I know what these rooms are used for, obviously. They’re where the bodies go to be assessed before being sent to the morgue. I’ve even done a few assessments of my own. Dead bodies are nothing new to me, they don’t scare me at all. Death is a natural part of life for a surgeon, and I know better than anyone that it happens when you least expect it.

But death is not a natural part of life for a mother.

I can’t process the fact that she’s in here. In this quiet, windowless room, that small mass on the bed, covered with a sheet, is my daughter.

Arizona pushes me further inside the door. “I-I don’t think this is the best idea, April,” she says, her grip firm on the handles of my chair. “Don’t you think it’d be better if you waited? Time might help you comprehend all this.”

I grip the wheels and yank myself out of her grasp, rolling forward towards the bed. I don’t waste time in answering her, I already know what I’m going to do. This won’t be real to me until I see her. I tell myself that I need to do this. To make it real, I need to do this.

Just hours ago, Alaina was alive. She was dancing to Rihanna in the back seat. Who’s Arizona to tell me that she won’t ever dance again? It can’t be possible.

I sidle up to the bed and feel both Jackson and Arizona’s stiff presences behind me, watching. Waiting.

I pull back the thin sheet cover and audibly gasp, pulling back.

Every once in awhile, after I had put Alaina to bed and was downstairs making her lunch for the next day, or cleaning, or watching TV, I would have the urge to go check on her. I got into the habit of making sure she was still breathing. I made a joke about it to a coworker once, and she had smiled and said,  _they’re always breathing._

But even after she said that, I’d still kneel by Alaina’s small bed, my forearms resting on her mattress, just to watch her sleep for a moment. Sometimes I’d pray for her, sometimes I’d sing, but my favorite thing was just sitting with her in the silence. Just the two of us breathing, together. I loved being with her in the stillness, knowing that we’d always have each other.

As I look at her face now, I realize that ‘always’ is shorter than I’d ever imagined it would be.

The body lying here, stripped of its clothes and set for examination, is not my daughter. Her eyes are closed, her bow-shaped lips are pale - all the pink from them drained. I touch her shoulder, the soft angle of her collarbone, and my skin makes a rough sound against hers. She’s cold. There is no blood coursing through her veins, no blush in her cheeks, no sparkle in her eyes.

I hear a choked sound come from behind me, and without looking I know it’s Jackson. I don’t cover her, though; I keep staring. This past summer, she had ‘grown’ two new freckles on the bridge of her nose and named them Sophie and James. I can still see them now, showing against her pale winter skin. As my eyes drift higher, I see the deep gashes along her hairline and through her hair as well, but I quickly look away from those. They’re not what I know. They’re not what I have memorized about her.

They’re not bleeding anymore, of course, but to know that they once were shakes me to my core.

I can’t imagine her in pain.

I push myself up out of my chair and bend to kiss her cheek. Her skin is cold against my lips, but I try to ignore it. My tears drip onto her forehead and roll off, and I hold the opposite side of her face in one hand as I stay close. I close my eyes and take in a breath, wishing for her to lean that cheek into me and reciprocate what I’m giving her. But of course, she doesn’t.

I sit back in my chair and look down at the palm of my right hand, then bring it to my face. I press it hard to my cheek over and over again, hoping that I’ll be able to feel something. She pressed her kiss there, just like in  _The Kissing Hand_. I should be able to feel it. I push my hand against my face harder, face screwing up with tears as I keep my eyes on her.

“I can’t feel it,” I whisper, chest heaving. “I can’t feel you.”

She stays unmoving, flat on her back, expressionless.

I inhale shakily and find her arm under the sheet to bring it out. It moves compliantly, no muscles working inside, and I firmly press my lips to the middle of her palm just like I had done not long ago. I hold her fingers with my lips pressed to her hand and squeeze my eyes shut tight, making sure with all I’ve got that my kiss stays.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter against her skin. “I’m so sorry.”

I look to my right after feeling a touch on my shoulder to see that Jackson has joined me at her bedside, his head bowed. He looks like he’s praying, though I know he’s not. I should be praying, but I can’t think of any words to say. I feel like the connection between myself and God is broken - that must be the only reason why he would rip away the one thing in my life that meant the most.

Jackson’s arm around me tightens and his fingertips dig into my opposite shoulder. His breath is rattling - he’s crying, too. He’d hardly begun to love her, he barely knew her. And now he never will.

We spend a long time in that room before we’re taken back to mine. I sit on my bed, facing forward, wondering how life is supposed to go on now. I don’t know the next step, I can’t even plan five minutes into the future. My daughter is dead two floors above me. Dead. Gone.

I feel everything at once. Incomparable sadness, emptiness, hopelessness. But among those weighted, blue feelings is a red hot anger. Why would He take her from me? She’s five years old. She’s a baby, she doesn’t know how to exist without her mother.

It seems she was going to be taken from me no matter how the chances were spun. By either Matthew or a greater force, she was never mine to keep.

** JACKSON **

April hardly speaks as the next day passes. She doesn’t eat, she barely drinks, and she does a lot of sleeping. I don’t try to get her to open up, there’s no reason I should.

I’ve never seen a dead body before, let alone a dead child. Let alone a dead child that I’d grown to care so much for. She wasn’t mine, but I loved her. Oh, I loved her.

I spent the night in the hospital in a very uncomfortable chair. I’m just waking up now, my hands folded on my lap and my ankles crossed with my legs straight out, and I feel every muscle in my body protesting. Immediately, I look over to April to see that she’s still asleep, turned on her side to face me.

Over the last 24 hours, the bruising on her face has gotten worse, spreading and turning more sections of her face purple and navy blue. She’s hooked up to an IV to reinstate her with the fluids she needs, though she’s ripped it out once already.

I’m not sure what to say to her now. I’m fully aware that no comforting words will help. She lost her child. She’s never going to be the same, with due right. I can’t bear the thought of April without Alaina, or Alaina without April for that matter. I don’t know how we’re going to get through this.

April wakes up when a woman doctor comes in. “Hi, April,” she says, her voice gentle. “How are you feeling?”

April’s eyes are glistening and hard as she stares at the woman, whose lab coat says ‘Meredith Grey.’

“You can’t imagine how I’m feeling,” April says, lashing out.

Meredith doesn’t flinch, but her face softens. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That was a stupid choice of words. I… I know. I know how it feels to lose someone. Not a child, but…” She trails off and sighs. “It’s probably best not to ask how you’re feeling for a good while. The answer’s always going to be the same.”

“Why are you here?” April asks.

“You’re my patient,” Dr. Grey says, then turns to look at me. “Who’s this?”

“My…” She clears her throat. “Jackson.”

“Oh,” Dr. Grey says. I can’t help but feel a little wounded by how April introduced me, though I try not to let it last. It’s a stupid thing to get hurt over given the circumstances. Of course she wouldn’t want to introduce me as her husband, it would pose way too many questions. “I just wanted to tell you that we’re going to keep you here for observation for a little while longer. I don’t want that wound on your chest getting infected.”

April touches the gauze under her hospital gown and keeps her eyes trained on the doctor.

“And I wanted to drop these by, too,” Dr. Grey says, setting a sizeable pill bottle down on the table next to the bed .

April reaches to pick them up, scrutinizing the label. “What are these?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Prenatal vitamins,” Dr. Grey says, as if it should be obvious.

“I can read,” April says, monotone. “Why are you giving these to me?”

A strange silence fills the room. I look urgently between the two women who are staring at each other with equal amounts of intensity and confusion.

“You don’t know?” Dr. Grey asks, and her tone of voice changes from calm assertiveness to uncertainty. If it makes me as uncomfortable as it does, I can’t imagine how it must make April feel.

“Know what?” she retorts. I can see her chest move as she starts to breathe heavier. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dr. Grey gets closer to April’s bed as her eyes dart towards me. “I…”

“Whatever you’re going to say, you can say in front of him,” April says, her voice cracking with emotion in the middle, though she tries to keep it from doing so. “What? Why are you giving me these?”

“April, you’re pregnant,” Dr. Grey finally says.

I watch April’s face change from indignant, to confused, to totally blanched of emotion before settling on fear. “No, I’m not,” she says, her voice small.

“You are,” Dr. Grey says. “It’s right here, on your chart. They tested your blood, and it came back positive in the screening. I-I’m sorry… I thought you knew.”

“That can’t be right,” April says. Her eyes are focused on a far spot on the wall.

It takes me a moment to realize what this means. What it means for her, for me, for us. The baby - the baby that she’s evidently pregnant with - is mine. When did it happen? What will we do? What  _did_ we do?

“It’s right,” Dr. Grey says.

April doesn’t speak. She sits there with her mouth hanging open for a long time, then I stand up from my chair and walk towards her. I rest one hand on the plastic headboard and look down at her, seeing that her eyes have glazed over with tears as she meets my gaze. “I want her to get out,” she whispers, voice crackling.

I look at the doctor and say, “Can you give us a minute or two alone?”

“Of course,” she obliges, and turns on her heel to leave.

When the room is empty save for the two of us, it’s so quiet that I can her breath as it shakes with each inhale and exhale. She’s still holding the bottle of vitamins in both hands, clutching them so tightly that I’m worried about it bursting.

I bite my lip and feel a lump rise in my throat. It hurts, but I force myself to say what I think should be said. “It’s okay if you want to get rid of it,” I murmur, just loud enough for her to hear. “I’d understand. I’d never hold that against you. I know… it’s unfair to ask you to do this again - to have another one. Right now, finding out the day she…” I can’t say what fills the space, so I skip over it. “If you can’t do it, I support you.”

She drops the pills and takes my hand in both of hers, holding on with just as much force as she had the bottle. She’s surprisingly strong for how brittle she looks. The veins in her temples are bulging with how hard she’s gritting her teeth together, and when she speaks it comes out squelched and barely discernible. “I can’t do that,” she says. Her eyes are wide and manic. “If I got rid of this baby… God would punish me.”

“April-”

“He’d punish me just like He punished me for being selfish with Alaina,” she says, sobbing now. “I should’ve been compliant with Matthew. I didn’t share my child with her father, so God took her away.”

“April…” I say, my voice low and soothing as I squeeze in next to her. She crumples against my chest and I wrap my arms around her as best I can with her IV wire in the way. “No, that’s not it. That’s definitely not it.”

“Yes, it is!” she insists, her voice rising.

“You couldn’t have done anything to prevent this,” I say. “It was an accident.”

“I could’ve kept control of the car,” she hiccups. “I didn’t help her when it happened. She was cold and alone and scared… she must’ve been so scared.” April covers her face and sobs, which makes her whole body convulse against mine. “She must’ve been so scared.”

All I can do is hold her. I can’t think of anything to say. There’s nothing in this world that will make her feel better, I know that.

She takes in a long, winded breath. “I didn’t let her cuddle with me,” she sobs. “I didn’t do enough for her. I didn’t tell her I loved her. I forgot to pack her lunch on the last day before break. I picked her up late from school so many times. I don’t remember when I last told her I loved her.”

“She knew,” I insist. “She always knew.”

“She didn’t know how much,” she sobs, pressing her face further into my chest. She doesn’t smell the same - I can’t put my finger on what her smell is, but it’s not the familiarity I usually associate her with. “And now she’ll never know how much.”

I rub her arm and kiss the top of her head, and she sobs against me for a long, long time. I look down when she reaches out and grabs hold of my thigh, squeezing like she’s holding on for dear life. “I’m pregnant,” she rasps.

I nod slowly. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I don’t know where to begin in processing this.

She fumbles for her chart at the foot of her bed and flips through papers that I can’t begin to decipher. “I’m five weeks,” she says.

That puts the conception date around the beginning of this month. It’s nearly impossible to figure out when exactly it was - we had sex a lot. Sometimes protected, sometimes not. We hadn’t been thinking, that’s obvious now. We should’ve planned better.

But obviously, there are some things you just can’t plan for.

She lays a flat hand over her abdomen and sits up a little straighter. “I want an ultrasound,” she says. She looks to me urgently. “I want an ultrasound.” She swings her legs off the opposite side of the bed and tries to stand, but I can tell her body has become more sore. Her voice is hysterical when she speaks. “The crash must’ve killed it. The crash had to have killed it. I can’t be pregnant. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I can’t be… I can’t be pregnant.”

But she is. The baby - which isn’t even classified as a fetus yet - is only 6 millimeters long. At this point, it’s technically called a sac. It doesn’t even have a heartbeat yet, but someday it will. Someday it’ll breathe and kick and cry and laugh. Someday, it’ll live.

***

Time doesn’t pass normally in the hospital. The window in April’s room is strangely tinted so it always looks like a perpetual state of dawn or dusk, except when the sun is down. And she sleeps a lot. She needs to, I’m not complaining, but it’s throwing off my schedule.

Feeling hunger pains, I walk through the mostly-deserted hallways until I find the cafeteria. I sit at an empty table, feeling no eyes on me. I am alone, completely and utterly. My brain is shut off, my thought process is blank. I feel nothing. I close my eyes and am wholly numb.

I don’t know how much time I spend there at that table with the rickety legs, but it’s enough time for the ala carte station to close and for me to find myself even more alone without the company of the employees. I get up, throw my trash away, and decide to make my way back to April’s room.

It must be past 10 by now, since that’s when the last section of the cafeteria closes, so I’m surprised when I hear muted voices coming from the room. I screw up my face in confusion and stop dead in my tracks when I see no one else but Matthew sitting on the edge of the bed right next to her. He’s talking in low, hushed tones with his head bowed and one arm resting behind April as she hunches forward, her head in her hands. She’s sobbing again, and he’s nodding as he speaks directly to her.

My chest feels funny and my stomach plummets to the floor. With my hand on the doorjamb, I stop myself from walking in and instead, take a couple steps back.

She was his child, too.

I leave them alone. They’re both feeling something that only they can understand and I will never be able to see a way into. I don’t belong there with them in that room, not right now. A life they created has been extinguished, and only they know how that feels. I never will.

***

When we go home a couple days later, April is sullen. Withdrawn. She had made the quick, logical decision to send Alaina’s body to a nearby funeral home - signing the paper and turning her back on Arizona who had presented it. She didn’t speak another word to her friend since hearing the news, and I could see that Arizona was wounded over it. She didn’t say it out loud, but she didn’t have to. It was written all over her face.

I wonder to myself if she’ll go home and tell Mark and Callie about what happened. I’m sure she will. Then I wonder how soon it will be until the calls start pouring in.

When we walk through April’s front door, she stomps the snow off her boots and shakes it out of her hair. Without saying a word in passing, she walks inside the house, turns up the heat, and throws open the door to the cleaning closet. She gathers supplies up in her arms as I watch confusedly from the doorway with my boots still on, and makes her way to the kitchen.

I hear her banging around as I take my winter gear off. I don’t know how to talk to her - I don’t know what we’re  _supposed_ to talk about. What do you talk about with your girlfriend-turned-wife after her child dies? It feels like there’s not much to be said. Everything feels so unimportant.

I walk into the kitchen a few moments later to find her scrubbing down the countertops with fierce intensity. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“It’s been days since I cleaned,” she grunts, eyes on the granite. “They were filthy.”

“April, you should go upstairs. Rest. It’s… It’s been a lot. You don’t have to worry about cleaning right now.”

Creases appear on her forehead. “Stop treating me like I’m a fragile, little-”

I cut her off. “Why wouldn’t you be fragile?” I ask. “And why wouldn’t I worry about that? It’s been two days. This morning and last morning I had to wake up and I had to fight. Just to pull my shit together. So if it’s that hard for me, I gotta figure it’s way harder for you. God, she wasn’t even my kid and I feel that way. So, you know what, I will watch you. I will worry about you. I’m not gonna apologize for that, it’s kinda what I’m here for.”

I don’t know if she listens to what I’ve said. She turns back to the counter and keeps scrubbing, stopping only when she comes across Alaina’s iPad on the middle of the breakfast bar. She pauses for a moment as I watch her, then picks it up, walks across the kitchen, and throws it in the trash with a loud, resounding ‘clunk.’

I don’t know her right now. I’m worried that I’ll never know her again. This should have never happened - I don’t know how she’s going to come back from it, or how I’m supposed to be there for her.

So I leave her alone. I retreat upstairs, take a much-needed shower, and change into pajamas. I don’t hear the clanging stop downstairs even when I get into bed and stare up at the ceiling, knowing I won’t fall asleep. It doesn’t slow down for hours.

She’s going to provoke her injuries if she keeps going at the rate she is, so eventually I get out of bed and go downstairs to collect her. I find her in the downstairs bathroom, scrubbing the grout from the shower with a toothbrush, her face about an inch away from the wall.

“April,” I say tiredly. “It’s time to stop.”

Without turning around, I see her shoulders tense. She stops for a second, but then resumes like I’ve said nothing.

“April,” I say, a bit more sternly. “Come upstairs. You need to rest. You need to heal.”

“I’m fine,” she insists.

I take a couple steps forward and yank the toothbrush out of her hand and chuck it out the door, where I hear it skid across the hardwood.

She spins to look at me with rage burning in her hazel eyes, then raises one hand impulsively like she’s going to hit me. I almost want her to - it would make me feel something - but she doesn’t. With her arm shaking, she stares at me with her jaw clenched and eyes hooded.

“Please just give it a break,” I say weakly.

She lowers her arm slowly, her eyes changing from furious to incredibly wounded. Her jaw unclenches and her lower lip trembles, then she collapses against my chest. I hold her, standing there in the middle of the bathroom, and try to tell her without words everything I wish I could say.

The next morning, April doesn’t get out of bed. Usually, she’s awake before I am, but today I let her sleep. She’s lying on her back, her bruises turning green now. The gauze is off of her chest, her stitches-laden scar exposed so it can breathe. She’ll get the stitches out in a couple weeks when they’re ready, but for now they leave her looking like a worn-out cloth doll, ripped at the seams.

Her breathing comes deeply as she sleeps, she doesn’t even stir when I get out of bed. I go downstairs, make a pot of coffee, and look out the window. The snow has stopped falling and the roads and sidewalks are perfectly paved - black asphalt against pure white. Ironic.

The house smells sterile. I don’t think it’s ever been this clean in the entire time I’ve seen it. As I stand in the picture window, I shoot a text to my mom who flew back home to Boston the day it happened, giving her an update. It’s dry and to-the-point. I don’t have the energy for much more.

April doesn’t get out of bed all day. Until early afternoon, I work on drafting a newsletter that I’ll regretfully have to send out to parents of the students in my class addressing Alaina’s passing. I’ll let them tell their children in ways they so choose - it’s not up to me. I’m not sure how I would go about it, anyway.

When I finish the letter, it’s past noon and I haven’t heard so much as the floor creak from above, so I ascend the stairs trying to calm my paranoia that she’s done something she’ll regret.

But she hasn’t. I peer into our room to see that she’s still wrapped up under the covers - I can only see the back of her head, that red hair peeking out from underneath the thick white duvet. I walk around to the other side to look at her face, wondering if she’s still asleep, to see her eyes open and unblinking - staring out the window.

“Hey,” I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed and extending my arm. I rest my hand on her shoulder, and she turns around to face the opposite wall.

I stay sitting there, eyes on her back. I don’t blame her for this. I’d probably do the same thing. She wants space, she wants to be left alone. So I give her that.

I don’t come back upstairs until it’s time to go to bed. Today, I had found small ways to occupy myself. I finished the newsletter, but didn’t send it out. I want April’s approval first. I went for a long run, came back and showered. I dug the iPad out of the trash and put it in the shoe closet, where it can be found when it’s ready. I ate a small dinner and brought some up with me when I finally go upstairs, only to have it refused. I throw it away, then slide into bed next to my wife without feeling like she’s really there at all.

April stays in bed for the entirety of the next day, too. Once it hits 1pm, I know I’m not going to see her downstairs with me. I offer her lunch, but she refuses again. There’s a water glass on the nightstand that gets lower and lower, so at least I know she’s drinking, but that’s the only comfort she’s offering.

She’s pregnant. That baby needs to eat.

I’m pacing in the kitchen wondering what I can say to her when I hear a phone incessantly buzzing. I search for the source of the sound to find it originating from her purse, and when I pull it out I see that it’s her lawyer calling, so I pick up without hesitation.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Rachael Downing calling. May I speak to April, please?”

“I - um…” I begin. “She’s unavailable. It’s Jackson.”

Rachael and I met when April and I submitted our proof of marriage. “Oh. Hi, Jackson. April can’t talk?”

“No, not right now,” I say.

“Okay,” she says. “Do you mind relaying a message for me?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t mean to sound harsh. Maybe it’s best she hears this from you, anyway. There’s no way I can say it that will make it sound nice or pretty,” she says. “But since April and Matthew were going through a nasty custody dispute when Alaina died, her death is being looked into.”

I feel sick.

“There’s no reason to get panicky about it. Everyone knows it was an accident. Lakeshore Drive is hell on earth without snow, so… no one really thinks otherwise. But they need written proof. There’s going to be an investigator stopping by the house tomorrow morning to question her about everything that happened.”

I look at the calendar. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. “Tomorrow?” I ask.

“Yes. They’re going to ask her questions that will prove her innocence and will be written proof for the judge. On the hearing date, the four of us - April, Matthew, me and his lawyer - will have to come before the judge and present the evidence as to why the case is closed.”

“He seriously needs evidence?” I ask. “A child just died.”

“It’s unfortunately how these things go,” she says. “It’s procedure. I know it’s hard. I know it’s pouring salt in the wound. But this thing won’t be over until it happens.”

I pause for a long time. “I… okay,” I sigh. “I’ll tell her.”

“Tomorrow, at 8am,” Rachael says. “That’s when the investigator is due to come. And Jackson, I’m very sorry about what happened.”  

“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”

When we hang up the phone, my whole body feels heavy. I make enough lunch for two and bring a plate up to April, only to find her asleep on her back, hands folded over her stomach. I eat in silence next to her and wait for her to wake. When she does, it’s with a start upon seeing me.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” I say, finishing a cheese stick. “I brought you lunch.”

She rolls away from me.

“April, you have to eat,” I say. “You can’t starve yourself. Or-”

“Don’t say it,” she says firmly. I barely recognize her voice - it sounds so worn down. “I know.”

“So why aren’t you?” I ask. “You must be hungry.”

She rolls back over, sits up, and takes the plate from me. Without breaking eye contact, she takes one half of the sandwich and shoves it into her mouth crudely, chewing with the wad of it sticking out between her lips. She does the same with the other half, then downs her glass of water in seconds flat.

My eyes burn into hers. “Thank you,” I say, deadpan.

There’s a long silence where she just sits there across from me, legs criss-crossed, shoulders hunched forward.

“Rachael called,” I say. “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just gonna say it. An investigator is gonna come to the house tomorrow. They have to ask you some questions pertaining to… how it happened.”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“I don’t think you really have a choice” I say. “She said he’ll be here at 8. You have to be ready to answer him by then.”

She lays back down, arms tucked into her chest as she rests on her side. She doesn’t speak anymore. Maybe she has nothing else left to say.

I wake up early the next morning. It’s barely 7am, and I know we have to start getting ready. We should probably look as good as possible for this investigator who will be here in an hour.

Without disturbing April, I get myself ready first. It doesn’t take long - I take a quick shower and find a pair of jeans and a nice shirt to wear. When I walk back into the bedroom, I see her lying there with her eyes half-open, running the fabric of the duvet between her fingers.

“Honey, you’ve been in bed for days,” I say, as gently as I can. “It’s time to get up. Shower. You have to look nice for the guy who’s coming.”

She’s quiet for such a long time that I’m settled on the fact that she’s not going to answer. But then, she does. “I can’t,” she says, her voice just a peep.

“You can’t what?” I ask.

“Get up. Shower. Do anything.”

I sigh, taking a few steps closer to the bed. I pull the duvet off of her and she smacks the mattress in protest, staring up at me with fiery eyes. “It’s time, April.”

She pushes herself up to a sitting position with a great deal of effort. I outstretch my hands to help her, but she ignores them and sets her feet on the ground. “I shouldn’t have to do this,” she growls. “I hate you for it. I hope you know I hate you for it.”

Her wounds hit me like a blow to the face, but I do my best in ignoring them. “That’s fine,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

She stands up from the bed and lets me lead her to the bathroom, putting almost all of her body weight on me because she’s grown so weak. “I’ll run the bath,” I say. “I don’t think a shower’s the best idea.”

I turn the water on and as the tub fills up, she wraps her arms around herself and shivers. “We would’ve never been out on the road had we not been coming to see you,” she says, her voice low and full of malice. I don’t recognize her. I can’t bear to look in her direction. I stare down at the water and will the burning sensation behind my eyes to go away.

The tub keeps filling up, and pretty soon it’s high enough for her to get in. “Do you need help?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer, but I’ve gotten good at reading her mind. She’s too proud to ask me out loud, but luckily I don’t need her to. I gently slip her pajama shirt off over her head, getting an up-close and personal view of the stitches lining her chest and the bruises mapping her torso. Her body looks like a battleground - what I once knew so well is marred and battered from the crash. She’s bony and frail, too, in a way she never used to be. I make a silent vow to myself that I won’t let her keep fasting.

I slip her pants and underwear down her legs and hold her hand as she lowers herself into the water. She wraps her arms around her shins and rests her cheek on her knees, facing the wall. We spend a long time in the silence before she breaks it with, “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Hmm?”

She turns her head so her opposite cheek is resting on her legs, and she’s looking at me. “I didn’t mean what I said, about hating you. Or about blaming you,” she murmurs. “I don’t mean that. I take it back.”

“Oh,” I say softly. “Okay.”

“Jackson,” she says, and we lock eyes. “Please believe me.”

“I do,” I say, but my voice is weak. “Let’s get you washed up, okay?”

She tips her head back and I pour a cup of warm water over her hair, turning it russett from amber. I massage shampoo into her scalp and conditioner after that, and once her hair is clean I scrub her delicate, frail body as gently as I can. I skim over her pale, nearly-translucent skin with the light blue loofah, watching the suds spread out and drip over her spine and angles of her shoulders, back into the water. She doesn’t look at me as I help her. Her eyes stay closed, looking peaceful though I know she’s not.

I wrap her in a towel once we’re finished and deftly kiss her forehead while holding her face in my hands. After looking into my eyes for a long time, she presses herself against me and I wrap my arms around her back, kissing the top of her damp hair. “Let’s find you something to wear,” I say.

We walk back into the bedroom and she lingers by the doorway, looking towards Alaina’s room. “I just…” she whispers. “I need a minute. With her.”

I give a small nod, and stay where I am while she leaves. I pick out clothes that she can put on once she gets back and wait on the edge of the bed as she takes her time in Alaina’s room.

When she comes back, her eyes are glassy and she’s holding something. I quickly stand from the bed and cross the room to her, running my hands over her upper arms. I search her eyes for answers, and she looks up from the small bundle to meet my gaze.

“We thought she lost this,” she sniffles, holding the fabric between her hands like it’s precious. “It was the softest. She loved it. We looked for it…” She holds it out and I can see the words on the front - Strong Like Mom. “We thought she lost it.” She stares down at the shirt and clenches the material tight in her fists. “I found it.”


	14. Chapter 14

** APRIL **

On the morning of New Year’s Eve, I open my eyes and immediately wish I hadn’t woken. I sit up, run one finger over the bumps of my stitches, and stay there staring at the white carpet under my socked feet.

Every day feels years long. I don’t know how to navigate time properly. I let out a long sigh and remember that the investigator is coming today to ask questions that will force me back into my own head - a safe place I can retreat to when things hurt too much.

I look up and am struck with the fact that I don’t hear Jackson. Usually I’m offered some comfort by the sounds of him downstairs or in the bathroom, but today I hear nothing. The house is abnormally silent.

I frown a bit and tune in my hearing when the sound of footsteps comes from the hallway. I tip my head to the side, confused at the sound - it’s much lighter than Jackson walks. But either way, I expect to see him in the doorway once the footsteps stop, but I don’t.

It’s not Jackson in the doorway at all, it’s Alaina.

My chest tightens and I gasp loudly, one hand to my heart. She has a bandage wrapped around her head and some bruising on her shoulders, but she’s standing before me just like any other morning. Her blonde curls are messed up and matted and her eyes are cloudy from sleep - she looks the same as she always has. She even gives me a little smile.

I rush from the bed and we meet halfway - I kneel in front of her and wrap her in the biggest hug I can muster. “My baby,” I say, my voice growing teary. “I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone. I had the most horrible dream, it seemed so real. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Her arms are loose around my neck, but my grip on her tightens.

“I love you,” I say. “I’m never gonna stop saying it. You know how much I love you, right?”

Still, she says nothing. I pull away, look at her face with concern, and stroke her cheek.

Her skin is cold, and she is silent.

“Honeybee, are you okay?” I ask. I want Jackson. I’m sure he can offer some insight on what’s going on here - I don’t know what happened to her. Maybe she has temporary amnesia, like I had originally thought.

But did I think that? Was the hospital all a dream? I don’t know what’s real and what’s not - there’s no fine line of reality here. Everything is blurred together.

“Can you say something to me?” I ask gently, holding her shoulders. “I want to hear your voice.”

She opens her mouth and my face lights up, thinking she’s going to speak. But when she talks, it’s not her voice that I hear, it’s Arizona’s.

“We did everything we could.”

I blink my eyes hard and shake my head to clear it. “What?” I ask uncertainly.

“We did everything we could we did everything we could we did everything we could we did everything we could we did everything we could we did everything we could…”

The words only stop when my eyes open again, for real this time. I hear Jackson in the bathroom, the faucet running, the yellow light spilling onto the white carpet. I’m in bed, not kneeling by the door. It had been a dream. She’s still gone.

Jackson gets me up out of bed and into the bath. In the process, I say some things to him that I don’t mean. I don’t know where they come from exactly, but he’s the first person who I have the desire to lash out at. I don’t know how he can seem so calm through all of this, how he can insist on going through everyday routines like usual. I shouldn’t have to talk to this investigator. It’s ludicrous.

My child died. Isn’t that punishment enough?

As I sit on the edge of the bed after Jackson cleans me up, he helps me get a thick sweater over my head. It sits heavy and loose on me, but it’s better than the pajamas that I’d been wearing for much too long. He helps me into some gray lounge pants - the only things that feel okay on my bruised-up legs - and even puts my socks on for me. I had no idea he was such a caretaker, but he doesn’t let me want for anything. He does it all.

He holds my ankles as he stays kneeling on the floor, then leans forward to press his forehead against one of my knees. I glance down at him, blinking slowly, then bring my hands to the back of his head. We don’t need to exchange words. We know exactly what the other is thinking.

We stay in that position for a long moment before he straightens up again, meeting my eyes with his glassy blue ones. He frames my face in one hand and gives me a somber expression, and I lean my cheek against his palm.

“Come downstairs?” he asks gently. “I’ll make us some breakfast.”

I debate fighting him on it. There’s nothing I want more than to stay in this bed for more days on end, forgetting that the real world is continuing. If the earth can continue to spin without Alaina, it can continue without me. That’s what I’ve been telling myself.

But I don’t fight him. Instead, I accept his hand and let him help me down the stairs and into a chair at the kitchen table.

“What sounds good?” he asks. “Eggs? Pancakes? French toast?”

“Just a bagel,” I say. “With jelly.”

“Okay,” he says. “I can do that.”

He puts it together quickly, setting it in front of me with a prenatal vitamin that I was prescribed just a few days ago. I stare at the pill and cover it with my hand, sliding it closer. I stare longer at it as it sits in my palm, then picture my baby inside me - no bigger than a pencil eraser. Right now, it doesn’t seem real. My body feels and looks the same as it always has.

I take the vitamin anyway. I’m smart enough to do that.

I eat my breakfast slowly. So slowly, that the doorbell rings before I’m done with the second half of the bagel, and my stomach clenches in knots. I won’t be able to finish now.

Jackson and I make silent eye contact before he goes to get the door, and I make my way out to the front room while skimming my fingertips along the wall for support.

Jackson and the investigator are shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, by the front door. I stare from where I stand beside the dining room table, gripping the back of a chair with all I’ve got. Partly so I won’t fall down and partly because of the emotions coursing through me - either way, I can’t let go.

He and I meet eyes. “Hello,” he says, very businesslike. “You must be April Kepner. The mother.”

I nod, eyeing him warily.

“Maybe we could talk right here, on the couch,” Jackson suggests, hurrying over to help me get there. He sits beside me, his arm subtly around the small of my back, and I rest against him. Moving is taxing for me. My body is tired from all the strain, so much so that it’s hard to sit up on my own.

“My name is Ryan Garcia,” the investigator says, extending his hand. I don’t take it, so he replaces it at his side and sits on the chair across from the couch. “This shouldn’t take long. But I do have some procedural questions that I need to ask you. I was hoping this could just be between me and you, Ms. Kepner, if-”

“No,” I say, and my voice sounds weak though I had meant it to be firm. “He’s going to stay.”

Jackson’s hand rests over my hip and tightens a bit at my words. I need him. Without him next to me, I know I won’t be able to answer a single question that this horrible man poses.

“Okay, it’s your choice,” Mr. Garcia says. “We don’t usually, but…” He looks between the two of us, then down at his yellow legal pad. “Let’s just get started.”

I swallow to brace myself and rest my hand on Jackson’s leg. He presses a soft kiss against my hair and I nod against him, while knowing I’m not ready to hear what Mr. Garcia’s about to say.

“The child in question is now deceased, correct?” he asks.

I part my lips and my breath hitches audibly in my throat; I feel Jackson’s fingers tighten on my hip, then he overlaps my hand on his leg with his own. I wait a long time before finally answering. If I say it out loud, it becomes real.

But I know I have to comply.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He jots something down on paper, then looks back up. “Could you describe the lead-up to the death of the child?” he asks.

I raise my eyebrows, bite the middle of my top lip, and let my eyes wander the floor. My breathing comes quicker and I can feel my arms and legs trembling - the last thing I want to do is go back and remember.

“I-I can’t,” I say.

“Are you really going to make her relive that?” Jackson snaps, grip tightening protectively on me. “Honestly?”

“It’s procedure,” Mr. Garcia says, voice softening a bit. I don’t know how his face looks, I’m still staring at the carpet, but I imagine it’s sympathetic. “I’m sorry.”

I gnaw the inside of my cheek and grip Jackson’s leg as tightly as I can. “We were going to Lincoln Park to meet Jackson and his mother,” I say quietly. I can hear Mr. Garcia’s pen scratching against the paper, the clock ticking in the foyer, and the dishwasher running in the kitchen. I’m tuned in to everything except my own thoughts. “The roads were bad. It was the day after Christmas. We shouldn’t have been out. I-I know we shouldn’t have been driving. Almost no one else was.”

The scene plays back in my mind, clear as day. The blinding white. The flash of lights, the spinning. The impact, the scream. The blackness.

“Someone lost control of their car on Lakeshore Drive. Alaina was singing and dancing to Rihanna in the back seat when they hit us. They hit us, and… I think we spun. I can’t really remember that part. The car must have flipped, I-I was cold when we finally stopped moving. I felt snow on my skin. I heard a scream, but I don’t know if it was me or her.”

My lower lip trembles. Jackson pulls me closer and kisses the top of my head again, encouraging me.

“That’s all I remember,” I say. “I blacked out and woke up in the hospital.”

Mr. Garcia clears his throat as he finishes up the notes on what I’ve said. “Did you intentionally mean any harm to the child?” he asks.

I feel like I’ve been punched. Kicked, beaten, more like.

“I would never harm my child,” I say, lifting my eyes to finally meet his. “Ever. This was an accident.”

He nods curtly and takes his notes, going through only a few more questions before we’re finished. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to talk with me,” he says. “It’s very important to your case that you did this.”

I stay sitting on the couch, and Jackson walks Mr. Garcia out. When the door closes, he comes back over, sits down, and wraps me up in his arms. I bury my face in his neck, breathe in his familiar scent, and cry.

***

That night, I let Jackson feed me a big, healthy dinner. I can tell it makes him happy, so I eat it. After it’s gone, I have to admit I do feel a little better. Rejuvenated, physically stronger.

I still haven’t spoken much since this afternoon. After we’re finished with dinner, Jackson loads the dishwasher and I turn on the TV. More than once, I feel his eyes on me. I think he’s thankful that I’m downstairs and coexisting alongside him, even if I might not be completely present.

He comes and sits down next to me after the kitchen is clean, winding an arm around my shoulders and giving me a little hug. I rest my weight against him and keep my eyes on the TV, though I’m not taking in anything on the screen. I don’t even know what show I turned on.

We spend a while just sitting together in silence, neither of us paying attention to the program. On a commercial break, he nuzzles his nose into my hair and says, “I’m really sorry that had to happen today.”

I shake my head slightly. I don’t know what to say about it. It was awful, horrible. The last thing I wanted to do was relive what happened, and I was forced to do just that. I can’t stomach the thought that there’s even the sneaking suspicion that I’d do anything to hurt my daughter purposefully.

It was an accident. I have to keep telling myself that.

But I was the one driving the car. I was the one behind the wheel, and I’m Alaina’s mother. It was my job to keep her safe, and I couldn’t do that. I should have been going slower, I should’ve taken the back roads. I shouldn’t have been on Lakeshore. Everyone knows it’s dangerous in the winter, yet I took it anyway. To save time.

“It is my fault, though,” I say out loud, almost without realizing it.

“What?” Jackson says, sounding incredulous.

“It was my fault she died,” I whisper.

“Why would you say that?” he asks, situating the way we’re sitting so he can look into my face. I can’t look up at him, though. I keep my eyes on my lap.

“Because it was,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t have been on Lakeshore. I’ve lived here for ten years. I know better… I should’ve known better.” I cover my face with my hands. “It’s my fault. I could’ve kept her safe, and I didn’t.” I lean forward and collapse against his chest, and he holds me. “I told her I’d never leave her,” I say. “I lied to her. I lied. I left her.”

Jackson pulls me onto his lap and holds my small form comfortably, rocking back and forth. “If you take one thing away from this,” he says. “You have to know that it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t spin out of control, another car did. They hit you.”

“I still shouldn’t have been on Lakeshore,” I cry. “I killed her!”

“Stop,” he says. “Do not say that. Never say that again.”

I press my face against his soft shirt and stay there. It seems like my body wouldn’t be able to produce any more tears after all the crying I’ve done, but somehow it still does.

***

Alaina’s funeral is on January 5th. The last hearing is on the 8th.

Today, Jackson has spent a long time on the phone with funeral services, arranging everything. I’m sitting in the middle of Alaina’s room, on the floor, staring into space.

I’m supposed to be picking the outfit she’ll be buried in.

I’ve spent so many mornings picking clothes for Alaina to wear. I never thought that I’d have to do it for this reason.

I hear slow footsteps on the stairs, then Jackson appears in the doorway. I glance over at him and he gives me a soft expression, lowering himself to the floor to join me.

“Didn’t find anything?” he asks.

“Didn’t look,” I admit.  


He nods slowly. “I spoke with the funeral director,” he says. “I told him you wanted the service at Covenant church. That’s the one, right?” I give a small noise of approval. That’s where Alaina and I went to church every Sunday morning. “And for her to be buried at Rosehill. I bought a plot.”  

“Right, Rosehill,” I say quietly.

He takes my hand. “All the logistics are worked out. And so are the flowers for the ceremony. But I figured you’d want to do the headstone yourself; I didn’t want to do that for you. And anything special you want for the funeral… I’ll leave that up to you.”

I lean my head against his shoulder and take in a deep breath. “Can someone sing?” I ask.

“Sing?” he echoes.

I nod. “I-I think she’d like it if someone sang ‘Hey Jude.’”

“‘Hey Jude,’” he murmurs. “Yeah, of course. I can figure that out.”

“A female singer,” I say. “I’d sing it myself, but… I couldn’t.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to say something?” he asks.

“I want to,” I say. “I should.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “I think that’d be really nice.”

“Are you going to invite your class?” I ask, turning my face up towards his.

He strokes my cheek. “I wasn’t sure,” he says. “I was going to talk to you about that.”

“I think that you should,” I say. “I think she would want them there.”

“Okay,” he says. “Then I will.”

A little while later, he helps me off the floor and we stand in front of her closet together, looking at all the clothes hanging on their hangers. They will never be tossed haphazardly out of this closet at warp speed again, or left in a messy pile right next to the dirty hamper. Until I move them, they’ll stay right here, hanging still. Untouched. Collecting dust.

I pick out a blue floral dress for her to be buried in. She wore it for Easter this past year and loved it, but I didn’t let her get it out of her closet often because it was special. Now, she’ll be in it forever.

Lying in bed next to Jackson the night before the funeral, I’m overcome with too many emotions to name. I’m into my 6th week of pregnancy now. The baby is about the size of a lentil, and its facial features are starting to form. In eight months, it will be joining us in the world as a real, live person. One that I won’t be able to keep safe. I already failed at protecting one child - who’s to say that I’ll do any better with another?

“I know you’re awake,” Jackson whispers, and it makes me jump. I thought he’d been asleep hours ago. “Do you wanna talk?”

I sigh towards the ceiling and rest my hands over my belly. “I don’t know,” I say.

He’d been facing the window, so he rolls over to look at me. I can feel his eyes on my face, but I keep mine directed upwards. He’s waiting for me to say something, but I don’t know what to fill the space with. What  _can_  I say? What words would do any justice to the way I’m feeling?

As I lay there, I can’t help but picture how Alaina looked lying in the holding room. Cold, still, frozen at five.

She will be five forever. She will never get the chance to turn six. She wanted a My Little Pony themed sixth birthday party, but she will never get it.

Her casket is going to be open tomorrow during the wake. Not during the service - the kids don’t need to see that. While Father Mike, who’s known her since birth, speaks about her life, Alaina will be lying inside a closed box. Alone and in the dark, in front of everyone who’s ever loved her.

Jackson falls asleep facing me as he waits for me to say something. Maybe he knew I wouldn’t. I turn to look at him and feel soothed by his serenity - the soft angles of his eyebrows, the slope of his nose and the freckles that cover it, the defined line of his jaw - even in sleep, he’s beautiful.

I gently caress his shaved head, running my fingers over his crown and down to the nape of his neck. I pull myself closer and situate his arm over my waist, comforted by its solid weight. I tuck my head under his chin and listen to his heartbeat, and let the rhythm of it lull me to sleep.

***

The next morning at 9am, I’m standing in front of Covenant Presbyterian church, staring up at it like I’ve never seen it before. I feel like after today, I won’t be coming back. There’s no way that I could.

I hold on tight to Jackson’s arm as I pass seemingly every person that I’ve ever known. When I get close to the room that the wake’s in, I look up after hearing a familiar voice - my mother’s.

I don’t know how I could’ve forgotten about her in all of this, but somehow I did. She has tears streaming down her face, and before I have a chance to register what’s happening, I’m in her arms. And it feels good.

I cry into her neck like I’m little again, and her grip is tight around my back. Jackson walks away to give us time alone together, and we don’t break apart for a long time. “April, I am so, so sorry,” she says, stroking my curled hair. “I am so sorry.”

I pull away and see redhaired members of my family in small clusters around the room, talking amongst themselves. I see my little nieces and nephews, who, in a few years, won’t remember that they once had a cousin who loved them. They’re too young to have the memory of her stick.

I get hugs from my sisters - long ones that include tears and apologies. I don’t have any words to offer in return, but I don’t really need them. No one knows what I’m feeling right now, no one in my family has ever lost a child. I am the first.

I hope I’m the last.

Libby takes my hand as we approach Alaina’s casket. I can see her as we walk up, light makeup dusted over her porcelain features and hands folded delicately atop her ribcage - she’s stiller than she ever was in life.

I watch Libby look down at her niece, then back up at me. She offers no words, and I’m glad for that. She doesn’t stay for long. I don’t think she can.

Everyone tells me Alaina is beautiful. As they pass, they offer me small words of comfort. She’s not in any pain, she’s at peace now, she’s beautiful. But I don’t want her to be beautiful. I want her to be cute, wild, free. Everything she was as she lived. She was not beautiful, not yet. She hadn’t grown to reach that word, and I wasn’t ready for it, anyway. She was cute. She was my little bug. She was not beautiful.

But now, the funeral director has made her so. She looks older than five with her imperfect skin made perfect - her freckles covered by a light layer of foundation. I do my best in smudging it off, but skin without blood coursing underneath doesn’t cooperate in the same way that I’m used to. I leave her be. The stiffness of her body makes goosebumps appear and my hair stand on end.

I stay by the casket’s side until Jackson joins me. When I see that it’s him, I take his hand and choke back tears as I say, “The coffin’s so small.”

He nods slightly, squeezing my fingers. “I know,” he says.

The sanctuary is full of people for the service. I’m sitting in the front row with Jackson on one side and my mom and dad on the other, and Matthew a few feet down from us with Leah. I glance over my shoulder at everyone who came, and see a number of little faces scattered throughout the audience that I recognize as Alaina’s classmates.

Their parents are holding them extra tight.

Father Mike speaks first, though his words I know I won’t remember. I have my eyes fixated on the closed casket with the shiny wooden finish, too small for the space it’s in. My only child lies cold inside it, positioned in a way that she will stay for eternity. In her blue Easter dress, she has no more vitality. She’ll never scream with laughter again when I tickle her, never shuffle into my room rubbing her eyes, never cry out in the middle of the night because of a thunderstorm. She’s stuck, lying there in a dress she’d only worn once, that now she’ll wear for the rest of forever.

When it’s my turn to go up to the altar and speak, my knees wobble. I stand up from the pew and feel weak due to emotional and physical stress, so Jackson takes my arm and leads me up. Once I’m stationed securely, he retreats back to his seat and watches me.

I prepared a speech, but now it feels all wrong. It feel staged, and I can’t read from it. I shove it into the pocket of my black dress and close my eyes, going with what feels right.

“Hi,” I say, clearing my throat. “Most of you already know me. But for those of you who don’t, my name is April. I was- I…  _am_ … Alaina’s mom.” I take a moment to scan the crowd. Everyone’s eyes are on me, no one is distracted. But I don’t feel any hints of nervousness, just overbearing sadness. If I were to let myself feel the amount of sorrow pressing down on me in full, I would probably collapse.

“Alaina had a certain way of making you feel special,” I continue. “It was in the way she looked right into your eyes, almost like she could see into your soul. She and I had a special bond. We were best friends. I loved her fiercely, with everything that I could give. I wanted to teach her everything I knew. She was the best thing I’d ever accomplished, and I couldn’t wait to see her grow.” I glance towards the casket, the pretty lights from the ceiling reflecting off it. “A mother should never have to bury her child,” I say. “Accidents happen. People die. I’m a surgeon, I know that better than anyone. But… this should never have to happen. I’ll never see my daughter grow up, go to college, find her passion. She loved working with her hands, making fuses, building Lego cities. Maybe one day, she would’ve been an architect. An inventor. Maybe one day, she would’ve changed the world. But now…” I shake my head. “Now she will never have that chance. I know a funeral is supposed to be a place to celebrate someone’s life.” I wipe a few stray tears from my cheeks. “But I just don’t find that fitting when her life barely got the chance to start.” I look out to the crowd again. “You never know what’s going to happen and when. Life comes and hits you out of nowhere. One morning, you wake up with your daughter in your arms, and the next they’re empty. You’re empty.” I pause. “In complete honesty, I’m not sure how to live life without her. I forgot how. My existence centered around her happiness, and now she’s disappeared. Gone. Her happiness is not a factor anymore because I can’t hold her in my arms. Later today, she’ll be underground. My light, my child, my little girl, will be underground.” I bow my head, stifle my sobs, then look back up and say, “Hold your children tight. You never know what might happen. So all I’m asking is for you to say a prayer for us. For Alaina, for me. I want her to be safe in God’s hands, and I need guidance in knowing how to live without my only child.” I press a hand to my collarbone and take in a shaky breath. “Thank you.”  

I step down from the altar and head back to my spot on the pew. I hear a few scattered ‘amens,’ and stare down at my knees. Jackson wraps his arm around me, kisses my temple, and I let myself break down.

‘Hey Jude’ is sung as we walk through the doors, headed towards the procession.

There’s a smaller gathering of people outside standing around Alaina’s plot. The casket is being lowered in via a creaky machine, and I can’t stop staring at her headstone.

_Alaina Faith Kepner_

 

_Loved With A Love Beyond Telling_

_Missed With a Grief Beyond All Tears_

 

_Tread Carefully, Here Lies My World_

 

_April 26th, 2012 - December 26th, 2017_

_I love you, my Honeybee_

After she’s lowered into the ground and everyone takes a turn casting in a handful of soil, I stare at my feet in the frosty grass, clutching Jackson’s hand.

I hear a little voice to my side, and look up because of it. “Alaina’s mommy?” it peeps.

There’s a little girl standing next to me with long brown hair and sad eyes. She has her hands clasped in front of her, wearing a navy blue dress with black tights under a puffy winter coat.

“Hi,” I croak. “What’s your name?”

“Julia,” she says softly. “I just… I camed to tell you that I’m really sorry about that Alaina died and that I’m really gonna miss her.”

I drop to my knees to wrap my arms around the little girl, and she leans into my hug. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and tremble against her, saying, “I’ll miss her, too.”

I let go and wipe the tears from under my eyes, and she gives me a sad little smile before heading back to her father.

I stand up after she walks away, and Jackson takes my limp hand once again in his. Everyone slowly disperses, but my feet stay planted where they are even as the wind whips around us and gives me a chill. I can’t bear to leave here, to leave her. Alone, in her final resting place.

“April,” Jackson says quietly, touching my shoulder after I’ve stayed rigid in the same spot for a very long time. “Are you ready to go?”

I glance from him back to her plot. The dirt is unsettled and covered with green mesh - unfinished. I shake my head no and take a step towards her grave, then drop to my knees.

His feet crunch on the frosty grass as he walks up behind me. I feel his gentle fingertips between my shoulder blades as I kneel and press my hands to the ground, then he squats down next to me.

“I can’t leave her here,” I whisper hoarsely, my fingers spread out on the cold ground. Tears drip from my eyes onto the grass, and I let myself cry.

He flattens a hand in the middle of my back, then moves it to encircle my shoulders to pull me close. “Honey,” he says softly. “She’s not here. Her body’s here, but that’s it. She’s with God. You know that. I know you know that.”

I sniffle and wipe my tears, turning to look at him with surprise. “You don’t believe in that stuff,” I say.

“But you do,” he says. “And she did.”

I rub my nose. “You’re just saying that."

“No, I’m not,” he says. “It’s important what you believe. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me. And you need to know that if she’s not with you, she’s in the second best place. With God.”

A tiny smile finds its way to my lips. “You’re putting God second to me?”

“Of course I am,” he says. He pauses for a long moment. “She’s with God now. She’s well taken care of. You’re not leaving her here, she’s always gonna be with you.”

His words sit with me, smooth and warm like honey on this sharply cold evening. “You’re right,” I concede, then stand up to my full height. I walk to her slate stone and close my eyes as I lay my hands flat on the top, then press a long kiss to the round of it. “Okay.”

“Let’s go home?” he asks, extending his arm.

I take his hand.

***

Getting ready for bed that night, I feel empty. I slip into my soft pajama pants and old, worn-in t-shirt and stand in front of the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth, listening to Jackson pull the bed down in the next room.

This house is different now. It not only feels different, but it is. It’s quieter, calmer, less demanding. There’s a presence lacking and the feeling is not small. It sits in the middle of the room like an animal, waiting to swallow me whole. If Jackson weren’t here, I’m sure that it would.

I pad out to the bedroom and see him painstakingly placing the throw pillows that he hates in a stack by the window, like he does every night. He doesn’t understand why they need to be on the bed in the first place, no one else sees it but us. What’s the point in decorating it?

I wonder how annoyed he must be with the life we share. We got married; he married me for my child who’s no longer living. Does he really want to be here anymore?

I stand by the edge of the bed with both hands clutching a glass of water. “Jackson,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence.

He looks up from where he stood lining up the pillows. “Hmm?” he says, eyebrows raised.

“I, um, I just wanted to let you know that… you can leave me now,” I say, my voice forced.

His eyes squint as he looks at me with confusion. “What are you talking about?” he asks, continuing his pillow mission.

“Would you stop with the pillows for a second?” I ask, and he stands still and straight. I sigh. “I’m saying, we got married for her. To get me custody.” I press a hand to my heart. “And now she left me, and… you can too, if you want.” A long pause. “I’m giving you a pass.”

He lets out a short burst of air from his nose and tosses the two remaining pillows from the bed to join his pile. “Come on, let’s just go to bed,” he says.

“Jackson,” I say, pulling my side of the covers back. I’m cold, and I need to get under them. “I’m serious. Don’t ignore me. You can leave if you want to. I-I know this isn’t ideal for you, we barely-”

“April, stop,” he says, lying down. “I don’t want to leave you. Okay? Not a single part of my body wants to, I don’t know, walk out on you. I’m not that guy. I married you, you’re my wife.”

“But I’m only-”

“I know why we got married,” he says, turning on his side to face me. I can feel his body heat radiating onto my skin. “But things have changed. I’m in love with you. You’re pregnant, god, April. I don’t wanna leave you. I don’t know why you’d think that. I’m in this for good, okay?” I stare at him for a long time, then he says, “Get that through your head.” I blink at him, not saying anything. “Why’re you staring?” he asks, even after closing his eyes in attempts to go to sleep.

“Because I don’t understand you,” I whisper, hands tucked under my chin.

“What’s not to understand?” he asks, voice slurred by sleepiness.

“I don’t know,” I say under my breath, pulling myself closer to him in the darkness. Both lying on our sides, we wrap our arms around each other until there’s no possible way that we could be closer. Even our legs are intertwined, and I’m sucking up all of his warmth.

He kisses my forehead long after I think he’s drifted off. “I love you,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

***

As we walk inside the glass doors of the courthouse on January 8th, I feel sick to my stomach. Jackson’s hand is resting securely on the small of my back as we find the way to our courtroom, and we meet Rachael outside the doors. She greets us cordially, and as we enter, Jackson’s hand still doesn’t leave my body.

In this sizeable room, it’s just Jackson and me, Rachael, Matthew and Leah, their lawyer, the judge and Ryan Garcia. As the proceedings start, I stare down at the wooden table I’m sitting at and listen to Mr. Garcia go through the evidence with Judge Garnet. His voice sounds muffled and distant, like I’m not really here listening to it. He presents the answers to the questions he posed to both myself and Matthew as Judge Garnet listens, and he doesn’t spend much time at the stand at all.

“The child in question is, in fact, deceased. Correct?” Judge Garnet asks.

“Yes, your honor,” I manage to say, blinking heavily.

“If you could present the evidence.”

I look to Rachael and she nods me on, and I approach the bench with Alaina’s death certificate balanced in my hands. I hand it to Judge Garnet and he takes it from me, looking it over before dismissing me back to my stand.

Matthew’s lawyer stands up after I sit down. “Your honor, the child in question is now deceased. Given that the investigation concluded that her death was an accident, no further claims will be made by my client at this time. Our case is fully withdrawn.”

The judge says words that I don’t hear. I’m trapped in a bubble again, and my body is filling with red-hot rage. I’m seeing black at the corners of my eyes, and my fists are bunched up so my nails dig into the heels of my palms.

When everyone heads out of the courtroom, I rush ahead of Jackson once we pass the doors and pull on Matthew’s arm so he faces me.

“Are you happy?” I ask, my voice wavering. “I don’t get her anymore. I don’t have her. I lost her.” I point a finger right in his face. “You win.”

He gives me a strange look, blinking a few times before he says anything. “Just leave it alone, April,” he says.

But I don’t. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” I continue. “For me to lose her? Well, you win, Matthew. You don’t have an obligation to pretend like you care anymore. You don’t have an obligation to pretend like we ever mattered to you.”

I feel a pair of gentle hands on my shoulders, ushering me back. But I stand strong, noncompliant. I’m not done here.

“We never mattered to you. And now we never have to.”

“She was my child, too!” he bellows, his face turning red like it always had. Like hers always did, too.

“You could’ve acted like it before it was convenient for you,” I spit back, shaking my head. “She’s gone now. And she’s not ever coming back.”

We both stare each other down as our significant others try and diffuse the situation. But we ignore them.

“Have fun with your do-over family,” I say, voice wobbling. “I never want to see you again.”

“April, come on,” Jackson says firmly, but quietly. “Let’s go.”

I give Matthew a lasting, spiteful look, then turn my back on him for the last time as Jackson takes my arm and leads me away.


	15. Chapter 15

** JACKSON **

On the morning of January 15th, I wake up with a pit in my stomach. The room is dark and I’m cold, lying on my side without any covers, because April has them all. I blink my eyes open slowly and pull my knees to my chest, seeing that I don’t have to get up for another fifteen minutes or so.

Today, I go back to school. Class will start again and life will go on, as will my lessons - without one of my students. Without Alaina. Without her sapphire blue eyes watching as I read a story to begin circle time, without her volunteering to update the weather chart, without her running circles around me in after-school. I’m not sure how to prepare for this. I don’t want to see that empty seat.

I pull the covers from April so she’ll share, and she grunts in protest while holding on tight.

“I’m cold,” I murmur. “You’re hogging them.”

“ _I’m_ cold,” she says under her breath.

“I’ll warm you up if you just give -” I give another halfhearted pull. “Me some.”

She pouts her lower lip out without opening up her eyes and relinquishes her vice grip on the comforter. I even it out and crawl under the warmth with her, pulling her to my bare chest and wrapping my arms around her shoulders. I kiss her forehead a couple times and she melts against me, her breath slowly puffing out against my skin.

“You have to go back to school today,” she says, her voice raspy and soft.

“Mm-hmm,” I say, stroking her hair. It’s tangly from being slept on; my fingers don’t comb through it easily. There’s a still silence between us before I say, “Are you gonna be okay here on your own?”

“Yeah,” she answers. “But I’ll miss you. It’ll be weird.”

“I’ll be home regular time,” I say. “So it won’t be too long of a day.”

I’ve made the decision that even though the extra money has helped me in the past, I won’t be running the after-school program anymore. I don’t have the energy, and I want to be at home more with April. She’s not sure when she’s going back to work, and she shouldn’t have to think about that yet. Maybe I’ll go back to it once things settle down around here, but I doubt it. It brings back a lot of painful memories, and April is pregnant. I’m needed more at home with her now.

“Good,” she says, trailing her fingers over my ribcage to settle on my waist. She squeezes me close and presses her lips against my sternum, and I feel myself start to get a little excited.

But instantly, I’m ashamed. I shouldn’t be thinking about having her that way when so much is going on. It seems trivial for it to even cross my mind, even if I do miss her body. Miss having her close, having her intimately.

But it shouldn’t matter.

“What are you gonna do today?” I ask.

She shakes her head, thumb stroking my hip. “I don’t know. Lay here.”

“I wish I could stay here with you.”

“Me, too,” she says, kissing my chest again.

I press my nose against her hair that smells the same as always, like coconut and something else light and fruity. “It’s gonna be a hard day,” I admit quietly.

She nods, but offers no words of support. I didn’t want or expect her to, but I still wanted to put it out there. I want her to know that she’s not the only one hurting - there’s some solidarity here.

Right before my alarm goes off, I skim my hands down her back and hug her close, and she reciprocates. When I get out of bed, she takes the covers again and wraps herself up in them, and I wonder if she really will spend all day there in her self-made cocoon.

I stare down at the asphalt after I park my car, watching my boots make tracks in the snow on my way into the school. Before everyone gets here, I take a moment to organize my classroom, switch seats up, then sit and gather my thoughts.

I fold my hands in front of me and stare the picture April framed for me. I had debated whether or not to bring it - if it would cause too much pain to look at - but I’d decided last minute to do it. I looked at it facedown on the kitchen island and tucked it into my shoulder bag, telling myself that I’d figure out what to do with it once I got to school. The only rightful place for it is on my desk, where she had originally imagined it would go.

I study the smiles on our faces, the sparkles in our eyes. The three of us had been so happy. Little had we known that just days later, it would all be ripped away.

The air is different in the classroom as the kids file in. Their parents all accompany them, holding their hands and glancing over at me periodically as they get their children settled. I keep my distance at my desk, letting the kids get reacclimated. It’s hard for children this age to come back to school after a long break; it feels like a brand-new start all over again.

But this is more than that. Something - rather, someone - is missing. And she’s the elephant in the room.

A group of mothers walks up to my desk with sorrowful eyes and manicured nails. A blonde one, who I know to be Emily’s mother, speaks first.

“Mr. Avery,” she says, her tone of voice hushed. “We just wanted to come to you and say how sorry we are about what happened.”

I nod curtly. Talking about it makes it real. It makes her absence palpable.

“Is there anything we can do?” Shelby’s mother asks, eyebrows raised. “If you give us April’s number, we could give her a call. I have a great brownie recipe, I could bring it by her house.”

“I remember when my father died,” Nicky’s mother says. “Everyone brought over food and it was just the most helpful thing. The last thing I wanted to do was cook. It wasn’t even on my radar. So having other people do it for me, it was just really nice. We’d love to be able to do that for her.”

I give them a smile. It’s nice of them to reach out, and I appreciate it, but I don’t know how April will feel about giving out her number. “I’ll talk to April about it,” I say. I’m not sure if they’re aware of the extent of our relationship, so I add a little more. “I’ll reach out. If she’s comfortable with giving out her number, I’ll let you know.”

“Of course,” Emily’s mom says. “Make sure it’s okay with her. Then let us know.”

“I’ll do that,” I say.

“Have a nice day,” Shelby’s mom says, and they all filter out of the classroom and leave me in front of their chattering kids.

But today, the chatter isn’t as loud and brash as usual. All the kids are in new spots in accordance to a seating chart I had made before break even started, so I have to get used to the new placements. Alaina would have been next to Julia, the one who had been growing to be her closest friend in class. Now, that table has one less chair.

Just as I think of it, it gets noticed by a girl named Evelyn. “Hey, everyone else’s table has nine. Ours only has eight,” she says. Her tone isn’t malicious, if only a bit indignant.

“Yeah, where’s Alaina?” Nicky asks, looking from side to side.

“She died, remember?” Julia hisses, her small palms flat on the tabletop. “My dad said to not talk about it. So don’t talk about it.”

“Yeah, be quiet,” Lyndsey, at the red table, pipes up. “My dad said that, too.”

“Okay, everyone,” I say, gaining control of the class. “I’m going to say this once. Is everyone listening? Raise a peace sign in the air if you’re listening.” Everyone raises their peace sign, just like always. “We all know Alaina, who used to be in our class. And we all know that she isn’t here anymore. Over winter break, she was in a bad car accident, and she died. Your parents probably talked to you about it, and a lot of you went to her funeral.” I clear my throat. My eyes are burning, but I’m definitely not going to let myself cry in front of these kids. To them, I’m a pillar of strength. I won’t let them think differently. “She won’t be here with us anymore. It’s okay to share good things that you remember about her, that’s fine. It’s okay to talk about her. If you’re confused, always feel free to ask me questions. I’m here to help us through this. It’s a really hard time for all of us.”

A hand shoots into the air. It’s a girl named Reese, and I call on her. “Is Alaina coming back next year?” she asks.

“No,” I say, as gently as I can. “She’s not coming back ever. She died. Do you know what that means?”

I see a few scattered nods throughout the room. Shelby raises her hand and I call on her. “My rat died,” she says. “We dug a hole and buried him in Mom’s garden. When you’re dead you don’t come back. And I got a new one, but this time it’s a hamster.”

I crinkle my forehead a little bit, troubled by her analogy, but I appreciate how she’s seemed to grasp the concept. “Okay, right,” I say. “It’s a very sad thing when someone dies. It’s very sad that Alaina’s gone. So if it hurts someone’s feelings for you to talk about her, then you have to respect them and not talk about her anymore. Is that understood?” Everyone agrees. “Okay,” I continue. “Then we’re going to try to go about our day as we normally would. But like I said, if anyone has any questions, feel free to talk to me.”

***

The day is long and hard, and I’m more than grateful when I get into my car to head home. I take the long way, decompressing while driving through side streets and alleys instead of Lakeshore Drive. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back on it without the memory of what happened, but I know it won’t be anytime soon.

When I walk through the front door, the house smells good. She’s cooking something, which was the last thing I expected upon arriving. I had expected the house to be cold and quiet, with April still in bed upstairs. But I hear soft music coming from the kitchen, accompanied by the familiar sound of pots and pans.

“April?” I call out.

“In here,” she answers, and I follow her voice after kicking off my snowy boots. I come around the corner to the kitchen and see her standing in front of the stove, stirring something in her tallest pot. She looks over her shoulder once I enter, her closed lips pulled up in a slight smile. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” I reply, walking over. I wind my arms around her belly and kiss her cheek from behind, and she leans into me. “That smells amazing. Is it chicken noodle?”

“Yep,” she says. “I make it best.”

I set my bag down in the breakfast nook then walk back over to her, one arm wound around the small of her back as she works. “Need any help?” I ask.

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m just glad you’re home,” she says.

“What did you do today?” I ask, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the island and taking a big bite.

“I washed our sheets,” she says. “Then I got tired, so I took a long nap. I woke up, took my vitamin, ate a little something, then started this.” She sighs. “It goes fast.”

“I wish I could say the same,” I say. “My day was so long.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say. “The kids were…” I feel her stiffen. I’m not sure how far into it I should get, and I regret bringing it up at all. We’d been having such a nice, easy back-and-forth. “Confused.”

“I’m not surprised,” she says softly. “It’s abstract to them. They can’t understand it.”

“I know,” I say, feeling a little better. Maybe she’s okay to talk about it. It’s hard to gauge, though. I don’t want to spook her and send her into hiding for the rest of the night. I miss simply just being with her, talking like we used to. I don’t blame her for closing herself off, not at all, but I do miss her. “I did my best to explain it. I hope I did okay.”

“I’m sure you did,” she says, staring down into her soup that’s started to bubble. She turns the heat down on the stove and pops her hip to one side.

“There were a few mothers that came to talk to me today, too,” I say, walking a few steps away to pour myself a glass of water.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say. “They, um, they wanted to offer their condolences.”

“That’s nice of them,” she says, clipped.

“They said they wanted to help in any way that they could,” I say, treading carefully. “They asked if I’d give them your number so they could give you a call sometime. Maybe bring over some food or something.”

Her jaw sets and I see it flex through her cheeks. “And what’d you tell them?” she asks.

“I said I’d run it by you,” I reply. “I didn’t really give them an answer.”

She shakes her head once, which makes a tendril of her bangs untuck from behind her ear. “I don’t need to talk to any mothers on the phone,” she says sternly. “I don’t need to hear them feel sorry for me while their healthy children play in the next room. I don’t need that.”

“Well, I didn’t-”

“And I don’t need anyone cooking for me,” she says. “Or for us. I can do it. I’m doing it. Do you not see me doing it right now?” she snaps, gesturing towards the soup. “I’m fine. I don’t need help. And I especially don’t need sympathy from stupid mothers who will never know how I’m feeling. You don’t know how I’m feeling unless you’ve lost a child like I have. It’s not the same as losing anyone else. They can’t relate to me, no matter how much they think they can. I don’t need them thinking that they’re doing some civil service and helping me grieve. Because they’re not.”

She clenches and unclenches the fist that isn’t wrapped around the handle of the wooden spoon. “Okay,” I say. “That’s why I asked first.”

“Thank god you did.”

I sigh through my nose. “You don’t need to bite my head off for it,” I say, sticking up for myself. “Or theirs either, for that matter. They’re just trying to help.”

“Well, they’re not helping,” she says. “Apparently you can’t see it, either. They just want to look good in front of their friends, their family, their church. Oh, let’s help the poor woman whose child died! Oh, what are you doing this weekend? Oh no, Carol, I couldn’t possibly get together. I’m cooking for poor April Kepner all day. Didn’t you hear about her? She wrecked her car on Lakeshore Drive and killed her daughter. I know, I just feel horrible. Can’t imagine how she’s coping. This was the least I could do.” April gives me a look that could kill. “I won’t have people talking about me like that.”

“April…” I say, eyebrows furrowing. “No one’s talking like that.”

“You don’t know,” she spits. “And you don’t get it. She wasn’t yours to lose. You don’t get it.”

I pinch my lips together as I back away from her. “Okay, sure,” I say tersely. “You know what, I’m tired. I’m gonna go take a nap.”

“Fine,” she says, eyes towards the pot. “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“Sounds good,” I say, and turn my back to walk out of the kitchen.

I go upstairs, change into comfortable clothes, and sit down angrily on my side of the bed. She had no reason to lash out at me when I was just trying to help. I didn’t do anything wrong. I feel like every time I try to communicate with her, I say something out of place.

Then I feel guilty for being upset with her. Her child just died. What right do I have in being angry with her for being short with me?

I punch the mattress and flop down onto my back with my feet still on the floor. I am tired from my long day, but I know there’s no way I can get relaxed enough to take a nap. The sound of the pots and pans downstairs has gotten louder, or maybe I’m just more attuned to it, but either way it’s bothersome now.

She doesn’t have to cook. She shouldn’t feel like she has to. Those mothers are just trying to help, lend a hand in her time of need. I don’t see anything wrong with that, but evidently she does.

I stare at the ceiling for a while then get up, deeming it useless to stay up here brooding. When I get back downstairs, I see that she’s putting two bowls out on the dining room table - somewhere we haven’t ever eaten before.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” I say. “I could’ve-”

“Well, I did it,” she says. “I’m capable.”

Okay. We’re still not done from earlier, that’s obvious now. I pull out my chair and sit down, waiting for her as she prays with her forehead to her folded hands. Once she’s done, she makes brief eye contact with me and picks up her spoon, eating slowly.

I blow on mine and ask, “How’s your chest?”

She touches the spot over her shirt. “Healing,” she says.

I take a bite of the soup and it washes down my throat, warm and comforting. “This tastes amazing,” I tell her.

“No one can make it better,” she says. “I’d like to see those mothers try.”

“April…”

“What?” I shake my head. She narrows her eyes and continues with, “Am I wrong?”

Before I can answer, the doorbell rings. We give each other a confused look, and I ask, “Are you expecting someone?”

“Of course I’m not,” she says.

I stand up and walk to the door, peeking out the window before opening it. “Oh,” I say, seeing who’s outside. “It’s Mark and them.”

I hear her spoon rest on the table. “Why would you invite them over?” she asks.

“I didn’t,” I say, looking over my shoulder. “But I can’t just leave them out there.”

We make lasting eye contact. “Okay,” she says finally, giving in. “Fine. Let them in.”

I open the door and am met with four forced smiles. “Avery,” Mark says, greeting me first. He pulls me into a big hug, stronger than usual, and pats my back. “Hey, buddy.”

“Hey, guys,” I say. “Not to be totally rude, but… what are you doing here?”

Arizona holds up a casserole dish and I can see that Callie has some sort of container in her hands, too. Even Sofia is holding what looks to be a box of chocolates. “Brought some gifts,” Arizona says.

“Oh, oh, god,” I say. “Okay, wow. Okay, sure. Come in.” I open the door wider and welcome them into the house, and we all stand for a minute, awkwardly in the doorway. I can feel April’s eyes on our guests, and all they’re doing is trying to avoid her stare.

They don’t know how to react to her. And honestly, right now I don’t either. I can’t be of any help.

“Oh, you guys are eating dinner,” Arizona says, sounding apologetic. “We don’t have to stay. In fact, you know what, we shouldn’t. We’ll just drop this stuff-”

“Don’t be silly,” April says, standing. I’m relieved she’s found her voice. “You guys should join us.”

“Really?” Callie asks. “You don’t have to invite us just to be polite, April. Honestly. We know you’re going through it-”

“I’m serious,” April says. “There’s plenty of soup. I just made it today. I promise, you’re going to want to stay for it.”

Mark chuckles. “Well, I’m not about to turn that down,” he says.

“Let me dish you up some,” April says, turning towards the kitchen. Arizona and Callie follow her to assist, and I set up more places at the table.

I can feel Mark’s eyes on me as we both sit down. He helps Sofia into her chair, then looks back to me. “How’re things holding up?” he asks, his voice low.

I shrug one shoulder. “As well as they can, I guess,” I say. “I went back to school today. I’m surprised she got out of bed. No less made soup.”

“Hmm.”

“We were arguing earlier,” I say. “It’s been hard. I… sometimes I just don’t know what to say to her.”

He nods. “I feel like that’s normal,” he says. “How was being back at school?”

“Awful,” I say. “Everything reminded me of her.”

“Of who?” Sofia pipes up curiously.

I meet her dark brown eyes in preparation to respond, but Mark gets to it first. “Sof, we talked about this,” he says, gentle yet firm.  

“It’s okay,” I mutter. “Just… maybe not around April.” I meet Sofia’s eyes. “I’m talking about Alaina,” I say to her.

Sofia pushes back her chair. “Where is she?” she asks. “Can we play?”

I let out a long sigh, not unused to this but also still feeling the pain from it. I let Mark handle it, though I don’t clue into the words he uses. Whatever he says gets Sofia to sit back down before April comes in, and for that I’m grateful.

“I tried some of this in the kitchen, and it’s  _really_  freakin’ amazing,” Arizona says, setting down the two bowls she was carrying. “April’s a master in the kitchen.”

“A master in the kitchen and the OR,” Mark says, shaking his head. “What a woman.”

April chuckles, and I’m thankful for the smile on her face. “Sorry, Mark,” she says. “I’m taken.”

“Damn,” he says, snapping his fingers.

We all start to eat except Sofia, who sits up on her knees and announces, “Mommy, I don’t like soup.”

Callie meets her daughter’s eyes across the table. “Honey, that’s not very polite. April made this special all by herself. How about you at least try it? Can you take five bites for me?” 

Sofia crosses her arms. “No,” she says stubbornly. “I don’t like it.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

“I do know,” she says. “I’ve had it before. And I don’t like it. I want grilled cheese.”

“I’m sorry, honey, but-”

“No, it’s fine,” April says, cutting in. She’s actually smiling softly. “Alaina used to be the same way. Sometimes, she just hated my soup. It didn’t fill her up right.” She grins at Sofia. “I’m happy to make you a grilled cheese, honey.”

“April, you really don’t have to,” Arizona says. “Really. Either she can eat this, or find something when we get home…”

“No, no,” April says. “I’d be happy to. It’s really no problem at all.”

“Grilled cheese?” Sofia asks, eyes lighting up.

“Coming right up,” April says, standing.

“You really don’t have to!” Callie calls as April disappears into the kitchen.

“I want to!” April calls back. We all continue to eat until she returns with a perfectly-made grilled cheese on a fish-shaped plate. “Here, sweetie,” she says to Sofia.   

“What do you say?” Callie asks her daughter.

“Thank you,” Sofia says, then digs in with the rest of us.

We end up having a nice dinner; they even manage to get a few laughs and smiles out of April. After we’ve had time once dinner is over, it’s getting late and they start packing up their things to leave.

“You really didn’t have to bring over the food,” April says, leaning on the banister as they put on their boots to head outside.

“It was the least we could do,” Arizona says. “And I talked to Hunt. He says that he doesn’t expect you back to work until you’re ready, whenever that is.”

“Thank you,” April says genuinely.

“Take care of yourselves,” Mark says, first hugging me, then April. She pats his back and giggles as he squeezes her tight, then gives them a small wave.

“Thanks for coming over,” she calls as they go through the door, and they call out their goodbyes as they head into the snow.

Just as the door’s about to shut, April steps forward and holds onto Arizona’s upper arm. She speaks in hushed tones, but I can still hear her. “Be careful on the roads,” she says solemnly. “Don’t take Lakeshore.”

Arizona looks up at the sky and the falling snow, then back to her friend’s face. “We won’t,” she assures her. “We’ll be careful.”

“Okay,” April says, letting go. “Good.”

After they’re gone, we’re left in the same quiet house as before. April looks to me with an expression I can’t quite read on her face, and I tip my head to one side in confusion. “What?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

We clean up the kitchen in comfortable silence and lock up downstairs, then head up to bed. My body is ready for sleep after the long day, but I wake right up when she walks over to me dressed in just a pair of pajama shorts and a bra. Obviously she got sidetracked in the middle of getting changed.

“What are you doing?” I ask, as she winds her arms around my waist. She tips her head to look at me, then presses her lips softly to mine. Reciprocating, I hold her face in my hands and pull back only to smile at her, then kiss her again.

“Tonight was good,” she says. “I was happy.”

“Yeah?” I ask, continuing to kiss her. “Me, too.”

She pushes the zip-up I was wearing off of my arms and lets it hit the floor. We walk towards the bed and fall down onto it, and I overlap her body with my own as she takes my lower lip between her teeth to bite it. She pushes my torso off of hers so she can unclasp her bra, then I look at her with steady eyes.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” I ask. “You really want to…?”

“Yes, Jackson,” she breathes, pulling my shirt off over my head so she can run her hands down my chest.

“You’re sure?” I ask.

She pushes on my shoulders and flips us over so she’s sitting on my stomach, bent at the waist with her lips attached to my neck. “Yes, I’m sure,” she says, lips moving over my throat. “Do these seem like the moves of an unsure person?”

I smile and lean my head to the side as her tongue runs over my pressure point, feeling all the blood rush to my groin. I’m already getting hard, and she’s hardly done anything to me yet.

She moves her lips from my neck down to my chest, where she drags her teeth over my skin and the pricks of my nipples. I run my tongue over my lips and feel my erection press between her legs, against the thin fabric of her pajama shorts. She pushes her hips down and rests her weight against it, rubbing herself against me in the most subtle way that she knows will get me going.

She trails kisses lower, running her fingers through the hair below my bellybutton that leads into my boxers. “Do you know that I love this?” she says in regards to it, pulling off my jeans.

“I didn’t,” I say. “I guess I do now.”

She tosses my pants behind her and they land on the floor with a clink of my belt. She settles between my legs and runs her hands up my thighs, inside my shorts, and teases me with her fingers.

I’m so turned on right now that I can’t see straight. She knows exactly what to do to me.

She pulls my boxers off and opens her mouth on my inner thigh, biting down softly on the skin while wrapping her hand around my shaft. My hips involuntarily jerk upwards, and I feel her smile against me.

As she starts to move her hand, my body twitches again and she laughs.

“Stop laughing,” I say. “You’re torturing me.”

She moves her mouth from my thigh to cover the head of my penis, keeping eye contact the whole time. I thread my fingers through her hair and pull on it as she sucks harder, my eyes rolling back into my head as my muscles tighten more and more, threatening release.

“Stop, stop, stop,” I say, and she pulls off.

“What?”

I sit up and pull her onto my lap, my erection trapped between our bodies. “I wanna be inside you when I come,” I say, wrapping my arms around the small of her back. She grins at me and presses her forehead against mine, sitting up on her knees only to take her pajama shorts and underwear off, then lowering herself down onto me.

I close my eyes as I feel her inner muscles adjust to me, and her mouth drops open as she moans. I kiss what part of her body I can reach, which so happens to be her collarbones and sternum, and wrap my arms tight around her back.

She moves closer to me, pressing her face to the side of mine, and tightens her arms around my neck. She’s breathing heavily into my ear, and I want to savor this feeling forever. I’ve had sex with a good number of women in my life, but not a single one of them made me feel the way she does. She’s on a whole different level - I never want to be with anyone else in the world but her.

“I’m gonna-” she breathes. “I’m gonna come. Jackson, I’m gonna come…”

I sink my teeth into her shoulder and her hips buck roughly against mine as her fingernails dig into the back of my neck. She throws her head back as she orgasms, and I take advantage of her open skin and drag my tongue over it as she comes undone.

Seeing her react in the way she does means I don’t last much longer, either. But before we can even come fully down from it, I have her on her back with her legs spread and knees bent, and both of us know she’ll come again.

When I open my mouth against her center, I hear the smile in her voice as she says my name. She runs her hands over my head and squeezes it between her thighs, but I keep working on her until she’s barely forming words and reduced to only desperate sounds.

When she comes for a second time, I watch her pant. Her chest is flushed and there are bite marks on her inner thighs and shoulders, and to me, she looks fucking perfect.

“I love you,” she breathes, her arms thrown above her head and her breasts flattened onto her chest as she lies atop the comforter. She closes her eyes, still breathing heavily. “I really do.”

“I know,” I say, kissing my way up her body and taking one of her nipples into my mouth to suck on it. “And I love you.”

She pulls my head away from her chest with both hands, and I meet her eyes confusedly. “One second,” she says. “I really gotta pee.”

I wait for her on the bed, completely naked and expecting to go again, and hear the toilet paper roll spinning. Then, her distressed voice sounds from the bathroom. “Jackson,” she says. “Jackson?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I-I think something’s not right,” she says, her voice wavering. I hear more sounds of the toilet paper roll. “Come in here. Something’s wrong.”

I get out of bed and pull a clean pair of boxers on that’d been sitting on the chair. I peek my head into the bathroom to find her on the toilet, completely naked, looking at the toilet paper in her hand.

“What is it?” I say.

She holds it up to me, and I see red-brown patches on it. “I’m spotting,” she says, then puts it in the toilet and stands up. She goes into the closet, puts on a pair of leggings and turns back around. “That’s what it looks like when my period starts.” She paces and forth, wringing her hands. ‘My period can’t start. I can’t be bleeding. I-I can’t… I can’t be bleeding.”

Fuck. The baby.

“Okay, okay,” I say, trying to stay calm. “What do you want to do? Do you want to Google it?”

“That’s a horrible idea,” she says, digging around for a shirt. She finds a bra and a light pink t-shirt, and puts them both on. “I don’t wanna do that. I… I just wanna go to the ER.”

“Wait, seriously?” I ask. “Can’t you, I don’t know, diagnose yourself?”

“No,” she says “I’m not an OB. Jackson, I really just want to go to the ER.” Her voice changes and I see her eyes become glassy. She’s about to cry. “I’m really scared. Can we please just go?” Her chest is heaving and it seems like she’s having a bit of trouble breathing.

“Okay,” I say, finding a shirt and pants. “Okay, we’re gonna go. Try and breathe. Just give me a second.”

In the car, April wipes her cheeks dry as she prays out loud. “God, please don’t let anything be wrong with this baby,” she says tearfully. “Please help this baby be safe and watch over it. Please give it strength. I don’t know what’s going on right now, but please help everything be okay.” She looks at me, and I look back when we’re stopped at a light. “I’m really scared,” she admits quietly. “I can’t do this again.”

I take her hand and squeeze her fingers tight. “It’s gonna be okay,” I assure her.

She faces front again as we move forward. “I don’t think it is,” she says, shaking her head. “I have a bad feeling.” She starts to cry, and her head falls so her chin hits her chest. “I have a really bad feeling. I think I lost this baby, Jackson.”

I grip her fingers tighter, but I can’t do much more while I’m driving. “No, no, don’t talk like that,” I say. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I feel that way!” she insists. “I think I lost this baby. Why else would I be bleeding?” She cries even harder. “I’m having a miscarriage. I know I am.” She lifts my hand and presses my palm to the side of her cheek, and I stroke her skin. “I’m having a miscarriage right now,” she sobs.

That’s what she announces when we walk through the Emergency Room doors of a hospital that isn’t hers, and it gets us seen right away. In hardly any time at all, I’m sitting in a chair next to where she lies on an examination bed, clutching her hand with both of mine.

April’s in a hospital gown, waiting for the OB who will give her an ultrasound. Her skin is cold and clammy, and she’s trembling.

“I don’t wanna do this,” she says. “I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough… I can’t listen to her tell me that I… that I…”

“Shh,” I shush her, trying to be soothing. But in reality, I’m just as scared as she is. She’s gotten me all worked up.

I don’t know what’s normal and what’s not in pregnancy, but bleeding doesn’t seem like a good sign. I don’t think you’re supposed to bleed while a baby’s inside you. It doesn’t seem normal.

“Whatever happens, just know that I’m here,” I say.

She covers her face with her free hand, her shoulders racking with sobs. “Do you think I lost it?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I really don’t know anything. I wish I did.”

A few minutes later, the OB comes in. She sits next to the monitor by April’s head without offering us many words at all, and turns on the machine.

“This is gonna feel a little cool,” she warns her. “My gel warmer seems to have gone missing.”

“O-okay,” April says, voice wobbling.

The OB squirts the gel onto April’s abdomen, and I grasp her hand as tightly as I can, preparing for the worst. I’m already putting together the words that I’ll have to say, my heart is already breaking for the baby that we tried and failed to bring into this world.

“You said you had some spotting?” the OB asks as the screen flickers to life. April nods, and the doctor matches her motion. “I see. What brought this on? Were you doing strenuous activity, riding a bike, having sex?”

April runs her top teeth over her bottom lip. “I-I noticed after we had just finished having sex,” she says, her voice very small. “That’s not normal, right? There’s something wrong?” 

The sides of the OB’s mouth turn down in an unworried expression. “Not at all,” she says. “Light bleeding is very common at this stage, especially after sex.”

“Really?” April asks, sounding relieved. “I mean, it-it was our first time since, you know, finding out. I guess that makes sense.”

“Of course,” the OB says. “And it might continue after every time, it just depends. It was a light amount of blood, correct?” April nods. “That’s completely normal. What you need to worry about is anything heavier than your normal period. Then you’re allowed to freak out. Okay?” April nods again, and the OB directs her attention back to the screen as she moves her monitor. “Oh, yes. There. Right there. It’s too early to see much of a shape, but there they are. See?”

April’s head flicks to the OB, a look of concern on her face. “Excuse me?” she asks. “What did you just say?”

The OB points with her finger directly on the screen. “Right here,” she says, then turns up the volume. “Nice, strong heartbeats. Listen to those hearts! Almost beating exactly the same. Just a little off from each other.”

My stomach drops as I wonder if she’s saying what I think she’s saying.

“Why are you speaking in plurals?” April asks, hands resting over her ribcage now.

The OB looks down at her, a puzzled expression on her face. “Oh… oh. I figured you already knew. Oh, April, Jackson…” She looks over at me. “You’re having twins."


	16. Chapter 16

** APRIL  **

Lying there on the examination bed, the room shrinks in on me. My eyes flit from the OB over to Jackson, then up to stare at the ceiling.

“Twins,” Jackson says, speaking first. “Are you sure?”

She confirms it. The dual heartbeats say it all.

We leave with a sonogram of our very healthy twins, and even though there’s no bodily shape to be seen yet, I can’t stop staring at the grainy black-and-white printout.

I still haven’t spoken as we sit in the car, unmoving. The radio is playing softly and the heat is on, but Jackson doesn’t go to put the car in reverse. He sighs and I continue to stare at the sonogram. 

Twins.

Inside me right now is not one life that I’ll have to protect, but two. Two little beings who are depending on me to keep them alive.

I worry my bottom lip with my teeth and run my tongue over a spot I’ve already worn raw. I couldn’t keep their big sister safe; they will never know her. This world is big and bad, full of mistakes, accidents, and slipping cars. And now I have two lives to protect from all of it.

“What’re you thinking?” Jackson asks, breaking the silence.

I glance over at him and wrap one arm around my belly, my belly that isn’t showing any signs of pregnancy yet. Someone passing me on the street would be none the wiser that I’m carrying a little one inside me, let alone two.

Two heartbeats. Two strong heartbeats that are growing every second, celebrating the fact that we brought them to life. They’re thriving within me - evolving, changing. I am their host.

 I am their mother.

 “I don’t know,” I admit truthfully. “I’m mostly… scared.”

 He nods, hands tightening on the steering wheel though we’re still stationary. “Me, too,” he says.

 “You, too?” I ask, turning to face him.  

He nods. I feel something settle in my gut, somehow comforted that I’m not alone in my fear.

“We’re having twins,” he says, more to himself than to me. He’s staring at his hands like they might give him some answers, eyes wide and unblinking. “Two babies.”

I start to cry, covering my face with my hands and leaning forward. I can’t pinpoint an exact reason why - there are too many to name.  

“Hey, hey,” he says, leaning over the console to rub my back. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head and feel my shoulders tremble. “They’re healthy,” I sob.

“I know,” he replies. “I know… I’m sorry, I don’t see why that’s something to cry about. Help me out here, babe. Talk to me.” 

I lift my face out of my palms to look at him. “They’re healthy,” I repeat. “And safe. I have them where I can keep them safe. And I couldn’t keep her safe. Right now is the only time that they’re ever going to be completely safe.” I wipe my eyes, but more tears keep coming. “My child just died. What kind of joke is God playing on me by replacing her with two new babies so soon?”

A wounded expression crosses Jackson’s eyes as quick as a flash before it disappears. “That’s not what… no, no, April. They’re not gonna replace her.”  

My sobs come out shaking and my words are indiscernible until I can catch my breath properly. “How can I take care of them when I couldn’t take care of her? How can I welcome them into my life when she left such pain behind?” I wipe the snot from beneath my nose. “I was happy today. I shouldn’t have been. It was wrong, it was so wrong.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Why? Why was it wrong?” he asks.

“Why should I be happy when my child is dead?” I ask, spit flying from between my lips. I feel it on my chin, but I don’t bother with wiping it away. I’m already a mess. “I’m forgetting about her. I know I am.”

I close my eyes, but feel his grip tighten on my knee. “What’s her favorite color?” he asks.

I blink and flit my gaze over to him. My eyes ache because of my constant crying. “What?” I say tearfully.

“Her favorite color,” he repeats. “What is it?”

 I sniffle. “Turquoise,” I manage to say.

“Her favorite movie?”

“Princess and the Frog.”

“Her first word?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Mama,” I say.

“How old was she when she took her first steps?” he continues.

 “10 months,” I answer easily. “She never crawled. She sat and sat, then one day decided she’d had enough. Just stood up and started going.” I giggle a little bit, remembering.

There’s a soft silence that follows and I realize what he’s done.

“You’re not forgetting her,” he says, gripping my hand. “You’re not.” 

***

A couple weeks pass, and I’m still finding it hard to leave the house. On a sunny Friday in the middle of February, Jackson comes home from school to find me on the couch with the TV on, unopened books about twins at my side. He’s been bringing them home from the library every now and then, but reading takes too much concentration. It’s hard for me to focus on much of anything without getting lost inside my thoughts.

I hear the door open and shut and look towards the sound, away from the TV. “Hey,” he says, walking through the entryway towards the living room. “What’re you doing?”

I gesture upwards, towards the screen. “Just watching TV,” I say.

He sits down on the arm of the couch, looking at me. “It’s a beautiful day out,” he says. “I even unzipped my coat.”

“That’s nice,” I say.

“It’s stuffy in the house,” he says. “We should get out. Go to the park, breathe some new air, see the city...”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m fine here. Really.”

He reaches over and tucks a bit of hair behind my ear. I’ve been quiet lately, and I know it. And I also know it scares him, but I can’t help it. When I’m alone all day in this house, it’s hard not to become isolated. It’s become easier to be by myself than with people, less talking has to be done. When he gets home, it takes so much energy to uphold a conversation.  

“Fresh air will you do some good,” he says. “Please come out with me. We can go to Grant Park, play ‘spot the tourist.’”  

I chuckle a little bit, I can’t help it. “What’s ‘spot the tourist?’” I ask.

“Pretty self-explanatory,” he says. “I think it’s pretty fun trying to figure out who’s from here and who’s not. Because you can always tell.”  

“No one’s gonna be at Grant Park,” I say. “The fountain doesn’t come on until May.”  

“Okay, Millennium then,” he suggests. “You know how much the tourists like The Bean.”  

I let a small puff of air out of my nose. “Yeah, they do,” I say.

“So, will you come with me?” he asks. “How about this, I’ll even throw in dinner.”  

I glance outside, where the sun is shining cheerfully and almost all of the snow is melted. I can’t remember the last time I was out there longer than it takes to retrieve the mail, and he’s probably right. The fresh air would do something in clearing my head.

“Sure,” I agree. “Just let me get changed.” 

He flashes an excited smile and I get up off the couch. In our room, I walk into the closet and dig around for a pair of leggings and a shirt; I can’t wear jeans anymore because my belly has already started to grow. When I was pregnant with Alaina, I wasn’t even showing at 12 weeks. But since I have twins, my belly is definitely noticeable.

I haven’t told anyone, not even my mother. And as for my friends here in Chicago, I haven’t seen them. Mark and his crew have asked to come over since the last time they were here, but each time I’ve turned down their company. Like I said, it’s just easier to be alone.

I rifle through Jackson’s clothes to get to my own - he has half of this closet now since we’re officially living together. He moved in at the end of last month. Since he spent all of his time here anyway, it just seemed like the logical thing to do.

I pull on a pair of leggings and situate them halfway up my belly, feeling secure. I skim my hands over it, resting them on my hips as I look for a shirt. I find a billowy green one and pull it on over my head, tying my messy hair up in a ponytail without bothering to style it.

When I get downstairs, Jackson is wearing a black hat with a White Sox logo on it that he got last weekend. He looks good in hats, I have to admit, but I’ve always been more of a Cubs fan. I walk up to him, pretend like I’m going in for a kiss, but then flip it off his head from under the visor.

“Hey…” he says, picking it back up with a smile. “Don’t be mad just because your team sucked this season because they got cocky after winning the World Series.”  

“They did not suck,” I say.

“If you say so,” he jokes, and puts his shoes on. “Do you wanna take the train? It’s such a nice day, I kind of want to be out in it.”

I agree, and we head out. As we walk to the Blue Line, I squint against the sunlight and Jackson looks at me while he chuckles. “Here,” he says, taking off his White Sox hat and putting it on my head.

“I’d rather be blind than wear this,” I say, but make no moves to take it off.

“Sure, sure,” he says, taking my hand as we walk. “Keep talkin’.”  

Our train ride downtown isn’t too long. But it’s long enough for me to fall asleep with my head rested on Jackson’s shoulder, and he has to nudge me awake once our stop comes.

“We’re here,” he says. “Gotta get off.”  

I rub my eyes sleepily and take his hand, keeping a good hold on him through the crowd of people on the platform trying to board. We’re quiet on the way up the escalator, and I wake up more when we get to ground level and the sun is still shining happily.

 “I bet you’re happy you have that hat now,” he says, nudging my shoulder.

 “Can  _you_  see?” I ask.  

“Oh, I’m fine,” he says. “You keep it.”

We get to Millennium Park and sit on a bench facing the mirrored Bean, watching the people mill around it excitedly.

“I don’t get it,” I say. “I never have. It’s just a big, shiny ball. What’s all the hype for?”

Jackson’s shoulders bounce as he laughs. “I don’t really know, either,” he says. “It’s cool, though. I guess.” 

“People love taking selfies in front of it, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, I found one,” he says, pointing straight ahead. “Tourists. A whole group, that’s like 300 points.”

“What?” I quip. “I didn’t know there were points involved.”

 “Oh, definitely,” he says “You gotta win somehow. And I should get extra, I mean… look at them. Everyone has a camera strap around their neck. They even have a paper map. They’re dedicated. I get like, a thousand points.”  

“Okay, no,” I say. “I call bullshit on that. A thousand is way too much.”  

“Sore loser.”

“We’ve barely started!” I giggle, and smack his knee. “Give me a second.” I scan the crowd. “Okay, there’s some.” I point towards some old ladies asking a teenage boy to take their picture. “A bunch of hens, all clucking around. Old lady tourists, the worst kind. They’re the rudest.”

“You’re not wrong there,” he says, smiling. “And they’re very touchy. Look.”

One of the women is holding onto the boy’s arm as she thanks him, and we roll our eyes.

“So I have two thousand points now, and you have one thousand,” I say.

“What?” he exclaims. “You’re making that up as you go along.”

“So are you.”

He scoffs. “Okay, what does this get me?” He holds the side of my face in his hand and kisses me softly, breaking apart only to kiss me again. 

“No points,” I say.

“I’ve been scammed,” he says, elbows on his knees. “Scammed, I tell you.” He licks his lips. “New Chapstick?”

“Vanilla mint,” I say, pressing my lips together to rub in what’s left of it.  

“I like it,” he says. “You taste good.”  

I hold his jaw in both of my hands and kiss him sweetly, over and over again. It does feel nice to get out of the house, breathe different air than I’d been breathing for weeks. It’s given me some clarity, helped me feel more like a person, like a moving part of society.  

“Thanks for bringing me here,” I murmur, feeling his hands drift to my waist.

“You’re welcome,” he says, pushing my hair back over my shoulder. 

I press my lips to his again, parting them slightly and closing my eyes. It’s only been a second before I hear someone clear their throat in front of us, and I pull away with surprise.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” the woman says. She’s about my age, and she has a Nikon camera in her hands. “I’m a photographer, and right now I’m doing a series on couples. You definitely don’t have to say yes, but I’d love it if I could photograph you guys for my collection.”

I study the woman and what’s next to her. Not only does she have a camera, but she also has a double stroller with a little girl in the front - probably around two or three years old. She’s wearing sunglasses and her hair is in two short pigtails on either side of her head. Her legs are pudgy and short and she has blue Converse on her feet that match her blue jacket. She has a sippy cup in one hand but isn’t paying much attention to it, instead she’s watching us. Behind her, facing the opposite way, is an infant with a cover over it so I can only see its little feet. And I can’t take my eyes off of them.

Jackson is smiling at the woman, ready to agree. But I can’t go for it. Suddenly, I don’t think I’d be capable of a smile. 

“I’m sorry, no,” I say, right before he can speak.

He looks at me with confusion, and I meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my hands clutching his.

“Oh, that’s fine,” the woman says. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Have a nice day.”

“You, too,” Jackson calls, and the woman pushes her stroller away.

I feel his eyes on me, but I’m finding it hard to look back. I shake my head as I stare down at the cement, looking at my pink tennis shoes. “I’m sorry I did that,” I say.

“It’s okay,” he says, but he still sounds confused.

I’m quiet again for another long moment, and I feel his arm slide across my shoulders. I blink away tears and am grateful for the stupid hat on top of my head so no one else can see me crying in the middle of Millennium Park. “She would’ve been so excited for them,” I say, one hand moving across my middle. I bite my lower lip, trying to keep myself from crying. Because once I start, it’s so hard to stop. “They’ll never meet her. They’ll never know her.”

I lean to the side and plunk my head on his shoulder, and he kisses the top of my hair. I know he must be tired of hearing this by now, I know I would be. But I can’t stop saying it. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop saying it - no less, stop feeling it.

I grip his thigh and say what else comes to my mind. “What if I can’t do it?” I ask, voice wavering. “What if I can’t love them?”

I close my eyes and allow myself to dissolve into sobs. There’s no stopping it now.  

He hugs me tighter, like always. No matter what, he always pulls me closer. No matter how hard I push away, he will always pull. “You already do,” he says softly, his lips against my hair. “And you’ll love them for her.”  

I pick my head up from his shoulder so I can look into his eyes. He’s watching me, unblinking, then traces a finger over my left eyebrow.  

“She’ll love them through you,” he says. “And she’ll love you through them.”

He kisses my forehead, and I rest my head back down and cry for a different reason. He always knows just what to say - and his words are never empty. I find myself believing him. 

***

 A few days later on a Monday morning, I’m due for a trip into the hospital to check how I’m healing. Jackson took the day off work and my appointment isn’t for a couple hours, so he’s sleeping in. But I’m awake as ever, on the couch in the living room with the TV on, watching ABC. Diane Sawyer is on my screen, and behind her there’s a small image of the Sears Tower.

 “We’re going to take you now to Chicago, where this past weekend at least 52 people were shot, at least 8 of them killed, in a wave of violence across the city. What is going on there? Here’s Chris Bury with the story.”

I’m frozen, watching the scene play out in front of me. They’re talking about the warm weekend, how it brought the violence out. It all started as a party boiled over.

 My jaw is clenched so tight that I think my teeth might burst through my cheeks.  

“Five shot, the youngest being a one-year-old girl. Gunned down in a weekend of violence so typical, it didn’t even make the front pages.”

Instead of a voiceover, the screen switches to a face that I recognize - Dr. Owen Hunt. “They’re waging war in the streets of Chicago, and we’re losing children every single day,” he says.

It isn’t lost on me that that could be me behind the camera, giving that interview. But because I’m not there - because my child  _died_ , I’m at home. Watching this happen.

The story continues, showing a family in shambles after finding out their 17-year-old was shot to death just that morning. He was innocent, caught in the crossfire. A bad taste appears in my mouth. A dozen gunshot victims showed up at the hospital, one shot in the back and probably paralyzed for the rest of her life.

“Shootings are now commonplace in a city where gangs are powerful, guns plentiful. 52 shot, 8 dead in only three days. And the city seems all but numb to an epidemic of violence. Chris Bury, ABC News, Chicago.”

I turn the TV off and stare at the black screen mounted on the wall. I blink my eyes hard and taste blood in my mouth, knowing that I must have chewed through the skin of my cheek.

This violence doesn’t just exist here, but I know Chicago is one of the worst places for it. We never see it at home, but at the hospital I see it all the time. Gunshot wounds flow in droves during the summer and on days where it’s unseasonably warm.

I was pregnant with Alaina here in Chicago, but I was never afraid. Right now, what I’m feeling is primal fear. Fear that something or someone will hurt my babies and I will be powerless against it, just like I was powerless when it came to what happened to Alaina.  

I can’t go back into the hospital and see all that death. All of those people are still there, getting treated. Maybe more incomings are still headed their way. I don’t want to be around that. I can’t be there. I can’t go in for my checkup today.

I get up from the couch to try and drink some water, but my hands are shaking too badly. The cup clatters into the white kitchen sink and I clutch the railing as I make my way up the stairs, trying to focus on not falling all the way back down them.

I make it to our bedroom and push open the door to find Jackson still very asleep. He’s shirtless, lying flat on his back with his arms above his head, breathing deeply. I climb onto the bed and take one of his arms, wrapping it around myself and waking him up in the process.

 “Mm, April…?” he murmurs, still half-gone.

 I bury my face in his neck, shaking my head.

 “What’s wrong? Babe, what’s going on?”

 I throw an arm around his middle and hold him tightly, trying to get that news story out of my head. The youngest shot was a one-year-old girl. That baby’s life will never be the same, thanks to some stray bullet. If she’s even still alive.

I know it’s not the same as what happened to Alaina, but it feels all too familiar. Kids die. Right here in Chicago, kids die every day.

What if my twins are some of those kids?

“I can’t go into the hospital,” I say.  

“Isn’t your appointment this morning?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m not going.”

“Why?”

I run my hand over his warm skin, feeling like I never want to leave this house again. More specifically, never leave this place right here next to him. It’s where I’m safest, and everything is right. The babies are inside me, sheltered from this awful world, and I’m in Jackson’s arms. I feel like I can’t catch my breath anywhere else, but right here it comes easily.

“52 people were shot this weekend,” I say. “8 died.”

“Holy shit,” he mutters.

“The weather was warm. People came out. My head of trauma, Doctor Hunt, was just on TV. The youngest shot was a one-year-old.” I hear my breathing come more ragged. “A one-year-old, Jackson. And they’re all at the hospital. I can’t go in and see that. I-I… I can’t even turn on the news without getting so insanely scared that I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“I read that story last night,” he says. “She’s fine. It was an accident, they didn’t shoot her on purpose.”

“But that’s what everyone thought,” I say. “That it was on purpose. And there were way more that  _were_  on purpose. We live in a world where that’s the first thought that crosses our minds.” My voice cracks and goes thin. “I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can raise these twins in a world where they could die for being at a neighborhood party.”

Jackson adjusts the way he’s lying so I have a better place to fit beside him, and he strokes my hair as he talks. “My mom used to tell me this story when I was a kid,” he says. “She and her dad were in this restaurant in the ‘60s, in Texas. Super small town. They were eating waffles and eggs, except she hated eggs. Like, really hated them. She still does. And some asshole came up to them and told them to leave and dumped my grandpa’s food all over his lap.”

“Oh, god,” I murmur.  

“Poured hot coffee on him. My mom was really scared, begged my grandpa to take her out of there. But you know what he said to her?”

I look up at him, prompting with my eyes.  

“Apparently, he said ‘not until you finish your eggs, young lady,’” Jackson says. 

“Wh-what did they do? What happened?” I ask. 

He shakes his head slightly. “Nothing. They went onto bother somebody else. My grandpa wasn’t afraid, so those bastards didn’t have any power.” He squeezes my shoulders close. “April, there’s alway gonna be stupid people. There’s always gonna be accidents, but that’s not what defeats you. It’s the fear.” He pauses for a second, running his fingertips down my arm. “She has this one thing she always says. She’s said it for as long as I can remember.” He dons a voice that I assume is mimicking his mother, high and light and a bit silly-sounding. “This is the way the world changes, sweetheart. Good people raisin’ their babies right.”  

I cover my face with one hand, but I don’t cry. His words, or rather his mother’s words, sit calmly inside me and I like the way they feel. “You believe that?” I ask.

“Definitely,” he says. “Me and you, we’re gonna be awesome parents. Well, you already are an awesome parent. And I’m… well, I’m gonna be okay. Because you’re here. When the twins are born, we’re gonna keep them safe. Nothing’s gonna touch them, I promise. No one’s gonna hurt them. Ever. My mom would tell you the same thing, in fact she’d take way too much pleasure in the fact that I just gave you that speech, so do me a favor and don’t tell her.”

I laugh a little bit, smiling with my cheek smushed against his chest, and decide that I will be able to go into the hospital today.

 I’m sitting in an exam room, waiting for Arizona with a nervous stomach. She specializes in peds, but I requested her specifically because she’s my friend and I feel comfortable with her. She doesn’t know I’m pregnant, but now there’s no hiding it. I’m thirteen weeks and my belly is very obvious. It’s the first place her eyes go upon walking in the room. “Hi, guys,” she says, then her eyes widen. “Oh, oh my. April… you’re…”

“Pregnant, yeah,” I say.

“Wow,” she says, eyebrows raised as she looks to Jackson. “How far along?”

“Thirteen weeks,” I say. “With twins.” 

Her eyes bug out even more. “Twins!” she says excitedly. “Well, congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly, one hand skimming over the round of my stomach. 

She presses a stethoscope to my chest and my back, then checks the steadily healing wound on my chest. “Have you been feeling any pain, stiffness?” she asks.

“No more than expected,” I say. “It’s getting better.”

“Good,” she says, checking it with her finger. “I’m gonna give you some salve for it. It should help with the scarring.” She sits down on a rolling chair and pulls up what I assume is my file on a tablet. “How’s your mental health?” she asks.

I answer too quickly, I know that I do. “Fine,” I say.

Her eyes flit up from the screen to meet mine. “Mm, really?” she asks, benignly.

 “Yes,” I say, folding my hands in my lap.

Jackson clears his throat and Arizona looks over to him. He has his fist to his mouth, covering his minor cough, though I know he made the sound for a different reason.

“April, you can tell me,” Arizona says. “We have resources that can help you.”

“I know about the resources,” I say, standing up from the table and adjusting my shirt. “I work here, remember?”

 I throw my purse over my shoulder and make a move towards the door, but I don’t turn the handle. I only rest my hand on it. “Are you still seeing your therapist?” Arizona asks.  

“Yes,” I lie. I don’t know why I lie, but I do. I just want to leave. I feel like I’m under a microscope - I don’t need someone psychoanalyzing my pain and grieving process, let alone someone who I thought was one of my closest friends.  

“April…” Jackson says, then looks to Arizona. “She’s not. She hasn’t seen her since… before…”

“Okay, so I’m not seeing her,” I say, letting my purse fall to the floor. “So what? She wasn’t helping me.”

“I can refer you to someone better,” Arizona offers. “A grief counselor. Someone to talk to who specializes in that field could really help you, I think.”

“I’m doing fine on my own,” I insist.

She sighs. “I shouldn’t be going here, but I’m saying this as your friend. April, you really don’t seem like yourself.”

“I am, I am. This _is_  me,” I say. “Of course I’m going to be different without… without her, but I’m coping. Okay? I’m coping. I don’t need help. And I especially don’t need you two ganging up on me.”  

“That’s not what we-” Arizona begins.

 “I don’t care,” I say, snatching my bag up again. “Are we done here? Am I fine?”

She gives me a lasting look, laced with many underlying thoughts that she’s not saying. “Physically, yes,” she says, her tone biting.  

“Then I don’t see much of a reason to stay,” I say. “Jackson, are you ready?”  

He looks at me with a pinched, terse expression. “April, you’re not being very fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” I spit. “My child died. That wasn’t fair. I’m coping the way I know how to and I don’t need anyone telling me that I need to go talk to a therapist.” I storm out of the exam room and through the hallway until I get out to the parking lot, and sit down on a bench once I’m in the fresh air. It’s cooled down considerably, back to normal nearly-March weather, so I can see my breath as I wait outside.

Jackson shows up a few moments later, walking slowly with his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t need to speak for me to know what he’s thinking. He’s upset with me. That’s fine, I’m upset with myself, too.  

“I already know,” I mutter, elbows on my knees. 

“What,” he says.

“It was wrong, what I did,” I say. “Yeah, I already know.” He sits down beside me, but doesn’t touch me. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I just… got mad.”

He stays quiet, which is unlike him.

“Are you pissed off at me now, too?” I ask, curling my hair behind my ear as I look over at him.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I know you’re hurting. Of course you’re hurting. But it doesn’t do any good to push people away.”

I sigh and lean back against the bench. I know he’s right, I have enough rationale to see that. But it doesn’t mean that I have enough rationale to combat it.

“I’m not trying to,” I say. “It just happens.”

“You haven’t seen your friends in weeks,” he says. “When’s the last time you called your parents? Your sisters?” He sighs. “You know they all text me, ask how you’re doing. Ask me if I can get you on the phone, and I have to tell them the same thing every time. I’m pretty sure they think that I kidnapped you.”  

I purse my lips and stare ahead at a car trying to parallel park. I don’t take my eyes off it as I speak. “They ask too many questions,” I say. “It’s easier just being with you.”  

“They miss you,” he says. “You shouldn’t punish them for that.”

“I’m not…” I say. “But they don’t get it, the way I’m feeling. Everything takes too much explaining. I don’t want to sit down with them and go over everything a thousand times because they think that they’re doing me a favor. They do things to make themselves feel better, not me. It’s the whole guilt thing. You’re the one who’s been by my side through this entire process, you’re the only one who knows how… how damn  _hard_ it’s been. You’re the only one who knows that I can barely get out of bed some days, and other days I can’t at all. And on the other hand, you know that sometimes I can live certain days like I could before. Like I’m the me I used to be. You know how complicated my grieving process has been… you’ve been here for me. So forgive me I’m not ready to include anyone else, because I’m just not.”

We sit there for a few more minutes, not exchanging anything else. After a while, I break the barrier and scoot closer to him, planting my hand on his thigh without making eye contact. He winds an arm around the back of the bench and I lean into him, resting against his side.

“Okay,” he agrees.

 *** 

_-7 weeks later-_

It’s the beginning of spring on a Saturday in early April, and I’m 20 weeks pregnant.  

I wake up and hear Jackson singing in the bathroom, and I can’t help but smile to myself. I’ve gone back to work, but I’m at the hospital almost half the hours I was there before everything happened. I decided on going back the middle of last month, and I’m glad I did. It’s good to be back out in the world again, though most times it runs me ragged.

 Today, I’m happy to be off. I know the reason that Jackson is singing - the 20 week doctor’s appointment and ultrasound is this morning. We’re going to find out if we’re having boys, girls, or one of each.

 I’m praying for two boys.

I lie there on my back and listen to him mangle some version of Fake Love by Drake. He sounds terrible, but he doesn’t care. He’s singing loudly and unashamed, and it makes me laugh.  

I heave my body out of bed. Now that I have two babies inside me, it’s made me appreciate how easy it was to carry one. Now there’s double the weight, double the cravings, and double the amount of times I have to pee throughout the day. And double the soreness. Can’t forget the soreness.  

Wearing a pair of pajama shorts and a t-shirt of Jackson’s, I walk to the bathroom and lean on the doorjamb as I watch him shave and sing at the same time.

“Better be careful,” I tease, and he looks over at me.

“You’re up,” he says. “Been waiting.”

 “Been singing, too,” I say. 

“Ah, shit,” he says. “Did it wake you up?”

“No,” I say, sidling up to him and looking at the both of us in the mirror. He positions us so he’s standing behind me, and pulls my t-shirt up to expose my belly. “Don’t go auditioning for American Idol, though.”

With his chin on my shoulder, he rubs his hands over my exposed skin. “I thought you loved it when I sang,” he says, moving his lips to my neck. 

I tip my head to one side. “I do,” I say. “That’s what I’m saying, I want to keep it all to myself.” 

“I’m gonna choose to believe that,” he says. “Oh! Oh, shit!” He says excitedly, grip tightening on my stomach. “One of ‘em’s kicking.”

I place my hand over his and look down, seeing my skin move slightly from the movement inside.

“Morning, babies,” Jackson says.

"Did you like your daddy’s singing?” I ask, still looking down. I look back up to say, “They said no.”

 “Harsh,” he says, laughing.

 I take my time in getting ready, picking out a pair of maternity jeans with a stretchy waist after I get out of the shower. I still have them from when I was pregnant with Alaina, though I hadn’t been wearing them until my third trimester back then. A twin pregnancy is much, much different, and a lot more strenuous.

 I’m tired out by the time I have myself all put together, but Jackson’s energy is higher than ever as he pours himself a cup of coffee for the car. “Are you sure you really need that?” I tease, lowering myself into the passenger’s seat.

He takes a long sip. “You’re just jealous because you can’t have any,” he says.

“Yeah, quit rubbing it in my face,” I reply.  

I miss coffee and wine the most - decaf just isn’t the same. I’ve been having wild cravings for pickles lately, which totally grosses Jackson out. He hates pickles and anything that has to do with them, so I find a lot of joy in bothering him.  

We walk into the hospital hand-in-hand, and sit in the waiting room until I get called. I’m staring into space, until I realize that Jackson has a Highlights magazine open in his lap.

“Please tell me why you’re reading Highlights,” I say, chuckling. “That’s for little kids, you know.”

“Hey, I’m studying,” he says. “Plus, the word search is harder than you’d think. I can’t find ‘carrot.’”  

“It’s right there,” I say, pointing as the word sticks out blatantly for me.  

“I was testing you,” he says, drawing a bubble around the word. “Good news, you passed.”

“Sure,” I say, nudging him.

“April Kepner?” a nurse calls out, and Jackson helps me up from my chair. He sits in the corner of the room while I have my vitals taken. I give a urine sample after they take my weight, and once all of that data is collected, we’re led into the room where the ultrasound will take place. 

Before the OB, Dr. Timmons, comes in, Jackson sits at the head of the exam bed and pets my hair. “What’re you hoping for?” he asks. 

The babies’ genders are all I’ve been able to think about. I want boys. I  _need_  these babies to be boys.

“Two boys,” I say, and our eye contact tells him exactly why. “What about you?”  

“Anything,” he says. “I’m excited for anything.”

We go through the regular runaround with the OB, discussing if I’ve been having any pain or discomfort, which I have but nothing out of the ordinary. I’m used to this process by now and I’m not scared of it anymore, which is nice.

“You want to find out the sexes of the babies, correct?” she asks, moving her sensor around.

“Yeah, we wanna know,” I say, and reach my arm out so Jackson will take my hand. 

“Okay…” Dr. Timmons says. “Baby A is a big one, right here in the front. Taking up a lot of the room… yep, that’s a little boy!”

I gasp and smile at Jackson, who squeezes my fingers. “A boy,” I say, and his smile looks like it might break his face in half.

“Baby B looks like it’s hiding back behind its brother here, but just… let me see if I can get a good look…” Dr. Timmons says, moving the sensor around in creative ways. “There. Got a good picture. Hiding behind her brother is a little girl.” She looks away from the screen to meet my eyes. “Congratulations, you’ve got yourself a pair of fraternal twins. A very healthy little boy and girl.”

 My grip on Jackson’s hand slackens as Dr. Timmons wipes the gel off of my belly. I feel numb as I sit up and pretend to listen to what else she has to say to me, and I force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace as she leaves. 

The silence is crushing once it’s just the two of us in the room. We’re supposed to be gathering our things and leaving to check out, but neither of us are moving.

“One of them’s a girl,” I say, after clearing my throat. “Jackson, one of them’s a girl.”

“I know,” he says, and holds my wrist. “But it’s gonna be okay. You can handle it.  _We_  can handle it.”

As we drive home, I’m quiet. I don’t mean to retreat back inside my head, but I can’t help it. And I know Jackson notices.

Becoming a parent is already a terrifying process. After a child’s violent death, the calculations are murkier. What does my trauma mean for my twins? Will it affect the choices I make for them? Am I going to give a smaller, more fearful world to them than I gave to Alaina? Are they doomed to live under the shadow of what happened to their older sister?

I’m petrified; more afraid than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m afraid that history will repeat itself or worse, that it won’t.

The little girl inside me will never be her sister, but I know that’s all I’ll see when I look into her face.


	17. Chapter 17

JACKSON

As the twins grow, April gets bigger by the day. Right now, during my lunch break, I’m headed to the hospital and she’s the first person I see when I walk through the doors. She’s standing at the nurses’ station looking at a tablet of some sort, wearing a slight frown that makes the creases on her forehead appear. 

I saunter up to her and she notices me at the very last second. “Jackson,” she says, a smile appearing on her face as she sets the tablet down.

“Brought you lunch,” I say, holding up a Whole Foods bag with her favorite salad inside. 

“You’re too good to me,” she says, taking the bag. “Here, come sit with me in the cafeteria. Did you already eat?” 

I show her the lunch I brought myself, and we make our way to the cafeteria. Once we get there, she lowers herself down carefully into a chair and takes a second to get comfortable as she adjusts her weight. 

At this point, she’s 25 weeks pregnant and hasn’t told anyone outside our small circle of friends in Chicago. Her family still doesn’t know. She’s talked to her mom a few times on the phone, but hasn’t spoken at all about the pregnancy. I’ve tried to discuss it with her time and time again that she should tell them, but she refuses to hear me. She hasn’t gone to therapy, either.

“How’s your day?” I ask, taking a bite of my sub sandwich.

She stabs some lettuce with her plastic fork. “It’s okay,” she says. “I’m just exhausted. I was on my feet all morning in surgery and they’re super swollen now. The twins won’t stop kicking, I just… I’m out of it.” She rubs her temples. “I’ll probably come home early. I need to take a nap.” 

“Alright,” I say. “I’m sorry it’s been shitty.”

“No, it’s fine,” she says, one hand resting on her bump. “I like being here, working. I wanna do it for as long as I can, you know that. But today, I just need my bed.”

I chuckle a little bit. “Well, you deserve it.”

“How’s yours going?” she asks. 

I shrug. “It’s fine. Kevin shoved James down, which caused some significant drama. They have gym as their special today, though, so that gives me an extra long lunch. That’s how I could come see you.” 

“I’m glad you did,” she says. “I missed you. I was just thinking about you.”

I take her hand across the table and squeeze it. “I know, I missed you, too,” I say.

We eat in comfortable silence, and I can’t help but notice her shifting uncomfortably every couple of minutes. Lately, there’s almost never a time where she’s fully settled and I feel bad because there’s nothing I can do to help. Here, at least. At home, I can prop her up with pillows and rub her feet, but even that only does so much.

I know it’s only going to get worse, too. She’s going to keep growing. And even if the twins do come early like a lot of multiples do, there’s still a good chunk of time left.

“April,” I say, balling up my trash and putting it back inside the bag I brought. “When do you plan on telling your family?”

Her eyes flash as she continues to stab the lettuce. “I don’t know,” she says. “Why?”

I sigh. “I mean, if you wait any longer… these babies are gonna be born. And you know how much that would hurt your mom if you did that to her.”

“Well, I’m not gonna do that.”

“My mom knows,” I say. “She took it well.”

“That’s different,” she snaps.

“Why don’t you want to tell them?” I ask.

“I do want to,” she says. “That’s not it. It just hasn’t been the right time. Just… just let me figure it out myself, okay?” 

I pinch my lips and take a sip of my water, avoiding her eyes. Anytime I bring it up, she always says the same thing and writes me off, and I’m tired of it. I don’t think it’s right that she’s keeping her mom in the dark because she’s scared of these twins coming - I know that’s why she’s doing it. Once she tells her family, it’s set in stone.

As if it isn’t already. 

“I think I’m gonna go,” I say, pushing my chair back from the table.

She looks up at me, obviously pissed. “What, you’re just gonna leave now because you’re mad at me?” she asks, sounding snarky. 

“I have to get back to school,” I say.

“You have a long lunch,” she retorts. “You just said so. It’s fine, Jackson, just say it. You can be pissed at me. It’s fine.” 

“I’m not pissed at you,” I say. “I just have to go.”

“Okay, sure,” she says, clipped. “Have a good rest of your day.” 

“You, too,” I say, then turn around and walk out of there.

As I go back to my car, I roll my eyes at how hardheaded she’s being. She’s not thinking rationally; telling her mother about her pregnancy would only make her feel better. To me, that’s obvious. But she apparently can’t see it. 

I sit in the driver’s seat with the car on and tell myself that I should call Karen. The thought has crossed my mind before in weeks prior, but I’d told myself that it wasn’t my place. But now, I feel like it is. She’s the babies’ grandma, she should know about them. And this is her daughter we’re talking about. If April won’t tell her, I will.

I stare at her contact in my phone, then decide to just go for it. The phone rings a couple times, then Karen answers, sounding cheery as ever. 

“Jackson, what a nice surprise to hear from you,” she says.

I keep my eyes focused on a pillar straight ahead of me as I speak. “Yeah, hi, Karen,” I say.

“How are you? What special occasion could it be for you to call me?” 

I chuckle a little bit. “I-I’m good,” I say. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she says. “I taught a half-day today. Did you?”

“I’m on my lunch break right now,” I say. “Actually, I’m in the car. I just brought April some lunch at the hospital.” 

“How nice of you,” she says. “So sweet. April’s so lucky to have you.”

I clear my throat. “I- uh, actually… the reason I called is because I wanted to talk to you about her.” 

The vibe of our conversation shifts considerably. “Oh?” Karen says. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I say. “Um, I just wanted to tell you something. I’ve been trying to get April to tell you herself, but she keeps putting it off, and right now I don’t know if she ever plans on it. She’s kind of hard to figure out right now.” 

“Okay…”

I sigh. “First things first, you should know that we got married,” I say, deciding to just put it all out there.

I hear her gasp. “What?” She fumbles over her words. “When? How? What are you talking about?”

“It was in November,” I say. “It was for the custody battle, so Matthew wouldn’t have an advantage over April on that front. It was all just a technicality at first, but then it turned into… well, more than that.”

“What do you mean?" 

“I love her,” I say. “I don’t regret marrying her, even though it wasn’t very conventional. She is my wife, and I take that very seriously. I want you to know that. I want you to know that I’m very much in love with April.”

“Oh, my goodness,” she says quietly. “That’s… that’s what you called to tell me about?”

“Well, no…” I say. “Not exactly. I just thought you should know that much before I got into what I’m actually going to tell you.” 

“Oh,” she says, chuckling nervously. “Jackson, you’re scaring me a little bit here. You’re gonna have to spit it out.” 

“Karen, April’s pregnant,” I say, and feel a weight instantly lifted off my shoulders once I say it. “With twins.”

The silence on the other line is deafening. Karen is quiet for so long that I check my phone’s screen to see if she’s hung up, but I put it back to my ear once I see that she hasn’t.

“Oh, my lord,” she says. “Pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

“How… how far along?” she asks. 

“25 weeks,” I say.

“Oh, my.” A long pause. “Oh, my.”

“Yeah.” 

“Why wouldn’t she tell me this herself?” she asks, sounding hurt. I can hear April in the way she’s speaking, it’s a little weird. “25 weeks is a long time to keep a secret. I know we haven’t seen much of you two since… it happened, but a phone call? A short visit? Nothing… she didn’t tell me. I’m her mother, and she didn’t tell me.”

“I think she wanted to,” I say. “She just kept saying it wasn’t the right time.”

“Not the right time,” Karen says. “Twins. I can’t believe it, twins.”

A smile sneaks onto my face as I’m given the chance to talk about them. “A boy and a girl,” I say.

“Oh, my gosh,” she says. “I’m just… you’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t really know what to say right now, Jackson.”

“It’s really okay,” I say. “Would it be better if I let you go?” 

“Yes, I’ll… I’ll have to give April a call.” 

“She’s at work right now,” I say quickly. “Maybe wait a little while.” 

“Sure,” she says. “That’ll do me some good. Let this information sink in.”

“Good,” I say.

“And Jackson,” she says. “Thank you for telling me. I really do appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, and hang up the phone. 

***

When I get home from school, the lights in the house are already on, which means April is there. I gather my stuff from the passenger’s seat and take a deep breath upon walking in the door.

She didn’t text me for the rest of the day, which isn’t unusual. I don’t know for sure if Karen contacted her or not, but my guess is that I’m about to find out. I’m not ashamed of what I did, though. I know I did the right thing in telling her mother. She deserved to know.

I parked in the garage, so I enter the house through the basement and walk slowly up the carpeted stairs. “I’m home,” I call out, so I won’t startle her. I don’t get a response.

At the top of the stairs, I see her sitting on the couch with her legs straight out in front of her, back supported by a few pillows. She has a book open, but her eyes aren’t on the pages. She’s staring into space.

“Hey,” I say, one hand resting on the railing.

“Hm,” she says, not even glancing at me. I set my shoulder bag down on the floor and start to walk through the living room to the kitchen, when she says, “I just vacuumed the rug. You’re seriously gonna walk on it with your shoes on?” 

I stop dead in my tracks, take them off and look at her pointedly.

“And like, honestly just leave your bag right there in the middle of the floor?”

“I’m gonna pick it up,” I say. “Geez, give me a second to get in the door.”

“Don’t ‘geez’ me,” she says. “I hate it when you say that.”

“You say it all the time to me,” I say. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Oh, right, because you’re allowed to say whatever you want _to_ whoever you want, and I can’t say what I want. Okay, yeah, sure. I get it now. Makes sense, I see,” she says sarcastically. 

I turn around to look at her where she sits with my elbow rested on the counter. Her chest is flushed, which is a sure sign that she’s upset, and I know why.

“April, is this about-”

“Of course it’s about that!” she says, heaving herself up from the couch by pushing off the back. “You went behind my back and called her when I specifically told you that I would do it myself.” 

“You weren’t going to do it, though,” I say. 

She walks over to me, one hand braced on the small of her back in her signature waddle. “Yes, I was,” she insists. “I hadn’t done it yet because of exactly what happened. My mom called me as I was getting in the car after my freaking long shift, crying. I had no idea what was going on, though I probably should’ve guessed. She said she’d been waiting all day for a chance to call me and I seriously thought someone died or something. But nope, she said you called and told her everything.” She shakes her head. “That should’ve been _my_ choice. I’m the pregnant one! And now… and now she wants to come visit and do everything for me, and-and I don’t need that. I am perfectly fine on my own!”

Her words sting. I narrow my eyes. “Since when are you on your own?” I ask.

“Don’t turn this around,” she says. “Telling her was my business. It was not your place. Just because we’re married-"

“No, that’s exactly it,” I say, cutting her off. “We’re married. Those babies aren’t just yours, they’re ours.” 

“Well, right now they’re in my body. This is _my_ body! And I make the choices on what to do with it, and who gets to know what about it.”

“She’s your mother!” I say, gesturing with my hands. “She loves you, she deserves to know.”

April shakes her head, pacing the rug in her socks. “You don’t get to make those choices for me, you don’t. You just don’t. I didn’t want her to know yet, and now they all do. I knew that would happen, I knew she’d tell everyone.” Her voice gets higher and she looks up towards the ceiling. “They wanna come here and throw me a baby shower. Everyone is telling people things without my permission. I deserve some say in this!”

“You _had_ say,” I insist. “I told her because she’s-”

“I had say, like I had any control over you calling my mom and telling her what I told you not to? That kind of say?” She shakes her head. “I thought I could trust you.”

“Don’t do that,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t do that. Just because you didn’t get to walk all over me this one time and make every single decision doesn’t mean you can write me off like that. I was tired of sitting here and being complacent with you isolating yourself. I’m not gonna support that anymore. Your mom needed to know. And that’s not the only thing - you need to start seeing a therapist. It’s past the point of negotiation, April. You need to talk to someone.” 

The flush has traveled up to her face now, where it’s burning red. “Stop changing the subject,” she says. “Seeing a therapist has nothing to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with this!” I say, throwing my head back. “You’re pushing everyone away. I don’t know how to be here for you anymore, and I’m sorry about that. But you have to let people in.”

She clenches her jaw and I see a couple tears roll down her cheeks. “You married me-” 

“I know, I’m not saying I wasn’t the one who-”

“No, listen,” she says, moving her arms. “You married me and you hardly knew me. We had no idea what we were getting into. We didn’t know each other. It was fast and rash and stupid, but we did it. And now… now it’s like this.”

“So what are you saying?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. “You want a divorce, is that what you’re saying? You wanna just be done with us, be done with everything, split custody with the twins?” 

She starts crying harder, wiping her face with her palms. “No,” she says. “We don’t just stop. We don’t just quit. What I’m trying to say is that it was a mistake to get married in the way we did, but we did it. And now we’re gonna be parents, so we’re gonna have to figure shit out. And that can’t happen if you go behind my back and do something that I asked you not to do.” 

“What is so wrong with your mom knowing?” I ask, dumbfounded. “She knows you better than anyone, she loves you…” 

“No, she doesn’t,” April says. “I mean, yes, she loves me. But she doesn’t know me.” She shakes her head. “ _I_ don’t even know me anymore, not after what happened. I’ve stayed away from them for a reason, my family. They can’t recognize me, and neither can you! I see the way you look at me sometimes. And I hate it. I know I’m different, you don’t think I can see it, too? I know I’m not the same as I was.”

“No one expects you to be the same,” I say. “Your daughter died. How could you be?” 

She visibly flinches when I say it out loud, and doesn’t respond for a moment. Her eyes are focused on something behind me, unblinking. 

“My daughter died,” she says, voice waterlogged. “And I’m going to bring two new lives into the world and somehow, I’m expected to know how to love them.” 

I stay silent for a long time. “I’m sorry,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think of that fits. “I know you didn’t want this.”

“I want them,” she says. “But just… not right now.” She covers her face with her hands. “I don’t want a big deal made of it. I don’t want a baby shower, I don’t want birth announcements, I don’t want balloons and cards and flowers. I don’t want my mom to come here and force a smile and make me force one, too. I don’t want these babies to cover up everything that I’ve lost, and I’m so scared that they’re going to. I didn’t want my mom knowing because all she’s going to do is try and distract me. Her heart’s in the right place, but I want to remember Alaina. I wanna know she’s here. I have three kids. Three. She existed, Jackson. At one point, she was here with me. That matters.” 

“I know,” I say, my voice lowering. “I know.” 

“And now that my whole family knows, it just… it just- they think they have to fix it. Fix the situation, fix me, now they think they have to make up for lost time. I can tell them they don’t have to all I want, but it won’t matter.” She sighs. “It was just going to be easier if they didn’t know. If I could’ve just waited a little longer… pushed it off until they couldn’t do all these things for me, that’s what I wanted.” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” I say. “How was I supposed to know?”

She puts one hand to her forehead, turning away. “I don’t know,” she says. 

“April, I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know how to do this for you. I don’t know how to be what you need, and it kills me.”

She looks down at the floor, blinking with concentration with her hands flat on her belly. “Right now, our babies are in here,” she says. “I can control this. I watch what I eat, I exercise, I take my vitamins and drink a lot of water.” I nod, wondering where she’s going with this. “And I’m not scared of them being babies, being toddlers.” She looks up from the floor to meet my eyes. “What about when they turn five? What about when they’re five years and eight months old, what will I think then?” She shakes her head, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip. “Something inside me thinks that it’s not possible for them to live a day past then. Alaina was a healthy baby, a happy toddler, I know all those stages.” She clasps her hands together. “I don’t know any older than five years and eight months.” 

I take a few steps closer, then wrap my arms around her. Hugging isn’t as easy or comfortable as it used to be, but I hold her tight anyway. I stroke the back of her hair and she rests the side of her face on my chest, breathing deeply like she’s keeping herself from crying.

“We’re gonna get through this,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I got so mad, you didn’t deserve it… I-I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m sorry, too. For going behind your back. And saying… things I didn’t mean.”

We’re quiet for awhile, realizing that there are bigger things ahead of us than we’re fighting about right now.

*** 

Two weeks later, April goes to therapy. I go with her and wait in the lobby while she has her long first session, flipping mindlessly through dated People magazines while I wait. 

The day after our fight, without any prompting, she told me she had called the number that Arizona had given her for the grief counselor. She had her own private breakthrough that didn’t include me, and I was okay with that. As long as it got her here, that’s what matters.

When the door leading from the hallway opens, April comes out sniffling with tear stains on her cheeks. She gives me a sad smile when she sees me, then walks up and hugs me tight after I stand.

“Hey,” I say, rubbing her back softly. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” she peeps. “It was just a lot.”

“Okay,” I say. “I got you.” 

We go out for frozen yogurt afterwards, per her request, and sit across from each other at a black metal table outside. She’s doused hers in hot fudge, but I was in a lighter, fruity mood.

“Can I have a strawberry?” she asks, pointing her spoon at me. 

“Why didn’t you just get some for yourself?” I ask, smiling.

“They didn’t look good at the counter,” she says.

“But they look good now.” 

“Yes,” she whines. “Yours look better. Can I please have one?” I roll my eyes playfully, stab a strawberry with my fork, then feed it to her. She chews happily with her lips pulled up in a smile, then digs out a fudge-covered hunk of something that I can’t quite discern from her own bowl. “Want some of mine?” she asks.

“Please, no,” I say, shaking my head. 

She giggles, and takes the bite for herself. We eat in comfortable silence for a minute, then she says, “So do you wanna hear about what I talked about?”

I lift my eyes from my frozen yogurt to make eye contact with her. Today, her gaze is clear and vibrant, no hints of cloudiness. It’s definitely heartening. “Sure,” I say. “If you wanna tell me.” 

“I do,” she says, stirring up her concoction. “We didn’t get into too much, you know, because it was just my first session. But we did get into the fact that I’m not letting myself feel close to these babies.” She licks her lips and runs her teeth over the bottom one. “She suggested naming them, that maybe that would help.”

My stomach jumps. I’ve been thinking about baby names ever since we found out she was pregnant, but it hasn’t been exactly the easiest subject to breach.

“So… I was thinking maybe we could stop by Barnes & Noble on the way home and pick up a baby names book,” she says. “Would you wanna do that?”

“Of course,” I say. “That sounds awesome.”

We finish our yogurt and walk to Barnes & Noble, which is located in the same strip mall. She takes my hand as we cross the street, protectively looking both ways for cars as she clutches my fingers. It makes me laugh, watching her tiny self think she has to watch out for me.

“Don’t get any weird, earthy-looking ones,” she says. “Just like, a normal baby names book. Where we can highlight and mark the pages and stuff like that.”

“Alright,” I say, leading the way to the aisle. When we find it, we spend a few minutes looking at the bookshelves and skimming the titles, until April pulls one out and holds it up to me. 

“How ‘bout this one?” she asks.

It’s the thickest book I’ve ever seen. It’ll take us ages to get through. “That’s huge,” I say.

“A lot of options,” she says, flipping through the pages. “Ooh! The babies are spinning.” She takes a few steps towards me and presses her body to mine with the book sandwiched in between us. “I think that means that they want this book, daddy.”

I smirk and lower my hands to rest over her belly, feeling the twins spin and twirl. I’m not sure how they have enough room in there to do that, but I love it when they do.

“Well, what the twins want, the twins get,” I say. “Let’s go check out.” 

Later that night, we’re lying in bed discussing names. I have my head resting on April’s lap with the book open as she strokes my head softly, listening to me say names out loud with a notepad in her hands. 

“Carter, Logan, Luke, Ryan, Travis, Phillip…” I say. “I’m not crazy about any of those. Are you?”

She shakes her head. “Not really.” She lets out a breathy laugh. “Jackson, you have a pointy head.”

“Leave me alone,” I say, as she runs her hand over my crown. She traces my eyebrows as I go through the girls’ names. “Natalia, Mackenzie, Joy, Vera, Genevieve…” 

She starts giggling. “Can you imagine us with a daughter named Genevieve?”

I laugh, too. “No, no, I really can’t.”

“I don’t love those names, either,” she says. “Can I look? You take the notepad.” We trade off, and I look at the list she’s accrued. The names written down are: Elliot, Mason, Wesley, and Benjamin for boys, and Saige, Rowan, Rosalie, Haven and Lennox for girls. 

“You didn’t tell me you were writing these down,” I say, touching the tip of the pen to the paper. “I love Wesley.” 

“Yeah?” she says, eyebrows raised. She presses a flat hand to her stomach. “We could call him little Wes.” 

I smile. “Wes,” I say. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Me, too,” she says, and I take her hand to kiss it. “Circle it. I don’t think I can make a firm decision yet, but I really like it.”

I make a dark circle around the name, and move onto the girls. “Lennox doesn’t seem like something you’d normally go for,” I say.

“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” she says. “I just thought it was pretty and unique.” 

“No, I do like it,” I say. “Actually, a lot.”

“More than the other ones on there?” 

“Seems like you did,” I say. “It’s underlined.”

She smiles. “Well, yeah.” 

“I like it,” I say. “And if you like Lennox, we should go with Lennox. I think that’s a super interesting name, and a strong one, too. She’ll go far with a name like that.” 

April nods. “I agree.” 

“And I was thinking…” I say, wondering if I should bring this up now, when everything is going so well. “If you wanted, we could put a little bit of Alaina in there. I’ve been thinking of ways how.”

Her hand stops moving over my head, lying still where it rests.

“If you want to,” I continue.

“How were you thinking?” she asks.

“I was thinking the boy’s middle name could be Lane,” I say. “And the girl’s, Faith.”

She lets my words sit with her for a long moment, then I hear her say, “Wesley Lane and Lennox Faith,” testing out how it sounds. 

“Only if you want to,” I say. “If it’s too hard, if it’s too much-” 

“No,” she says. “I like that. I… of course you thought of that. I think that she’d really like that. Knowing she’s a part of it. A part of them.”

“Yeah?” I say, looking up at her.

“Yeah,” she says, moving her thumb over the apple of my cheek. “Thank you, for thinking of her.” 

“You don't have to thank me,” I say. “I think about her a lot.”

“Me, too,” she says, setting the pen and paper down. “I think about her all the time.” She's quiet for a moment and I lift one of my arms to rest on her stomach, and she overlaps my hand with hers. “Do you think she knows? I’m serious.” 

I stroke her skin over her shirt with my thumb, thinking about my answer. “I think she does,” I say. “I don't think there's a way that she could be just… gone. I don't think there's a way that it could be that simple.” 

She nods, and when I look up at her she's smiling softly. “You think she's watching right now?” she asks.

“Maybe,” I say. 

April smiles again, although a different kind. “Lainey, close your eyes. Because Mommy’s gonna kiss Jackson. A lot.”

My smile breaks my face in half from how wide it is as I scoot up to sit by her. I brace one arm on the pillow on the other side of her and use the other to swipe her hair off of her shoulder, then press my lips to hers.

We haven’t made out in a really long time, and I hadn't realized how much I missed the feeling of her hands all over me. She’s feeling me everywhere she can reach, pushing my shirt up to rake her nails across the small of my back and lingering there.

“I love your back dimples,” she says breathlessly, as I trail my lips down her jawline.

“They can't compete with your face dimples,” I say, moving to kiss them.

She giggles with her eyes pinched closed, which makes those same dimples pop. I kiss her neck, where her skin tastes the same as it always has. It’s warm with hints of vanilla and coconut, and it drives me insane.

“Mm,” she moans, as I suck on the spot that drives her wild. “Oh, god. Jackson, you can't do that to me if you don't plan on delivering.”

 “Who said I didn't plan on delivering?” I murmur, lips still on her skin. “If you want to, I want to. 

“Yes,” she says. “I want you. God, I want you so bad.”

I pull back from her and see that I’ve left a trail of tiny, red welts from her jaw all the way down her to collarbones. I let my eyes wander her body before landing on her pregnant belly, and she reads my mind before I say anything out loud.

“We can work around it,” she says, hips squirming.

I chuckle. “You’re really horny, aren't you?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Stop, it's been forever. Since… we've wanted to, you know. And now I want this. Really bad.”

“So do I,” I say, resting back on my knees to pull off my shirt. 

She finds a pillow and props it under the small of her back after she takes her shirt off, and I take care of her bra. Lately she hasn't been into underwire because of the discomfort, so I slip this pink one off over her head with only a little bit of difficulty.

Once her top half is bare, I don't waste much time. She arches her back as I press my lips between her breasts, then directs me over to one specific side. When I touch her with my tongue, her nipple is already hard and she’s moaning before I've hardly done anything. 

I skim my hand over her belly and rest it between her legs, cupping her while my mouth keeps working on her breast. 

“Oh, my god,” she whimpers, eyes closing.

I smile against her and lick my lips. “Before… it used to take more than this…” I say. 

“They're sensitive,” she says. “Keep going.”

I happily do as she says, and dip my hand inside the front of her yoga pants as I go. I touch her over her underwear and her hips lift towards my fingers, so I move aside the fabric and push a couple inside her.

A surprised, desperate sound escapes her as I edge them deeper and suck on her breast at the same time, then she grips the back of my head as I feel her inner muscles contract and release.

“That was…” I begin. 

“Easy, I know,” she pants. “Will you go down on me? God, please. Jackson, I need to feel that again.”

She’s different in the bedroom than how she used to be - maybe it's from pregnancy, maybe it's just how she's changed - but either way, it's turning me on.

I pull her pants down and her body is completely bare. I can hardly handle it; she is so sexy. The fact that she's carrying my children inside her - this person who I’m so in love with - it's doing crazy things to me. I wonder if all husbands feel like this towards their pregnant wives. Because right now, she's sexier than I’ve ever seen her.

“Stop staring at me,” she says, widening her knees. 

“Not my fault that you're hot,” I say, getting situated between her legs.

She laughs. “You're drunk on alpha male hormones right now,” she says.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, kissing the soft skin of her inner thighs. 

“It’s a proven fact,” she says. “Men love seeing their wives pregnant. It’s the whole ‘I did that’ mentality. Planting your seed and whatnot. Oh… oh, god.”

I cut her off by running my tongue over her sensitive skin, and her legs relax instantly. “No one said anything about a seed,” I say, coming up for breath.

“I did,” she pants. “But please, god, stop talking.”

I laugh and don't waste time in what I know she wants. I find those sensitive nerves right away and pull them in between my lips, and feel myself get inexplicably hard as she starts to come for a second time. 

Her legs are trembling when she comes down, and with her eyelids still fluttering, she goes for my pants and tries to push them down my hips. She can’t get far, though, so I finish the job for her. 

She turns on her side, facing away from me, and for a fleeting moment I think that we must be finished. But just as that thought crosses my mind, she impatiently reaches behind her and pulls my hips flush to hers from behind and I understand what she's doing. She's positioning us so I won’t put any weight on her belly and we can still have sex. 

With one arm wrapped under her bump, I push inside her until my pelvis is pressed right up against her ass. She grips my hand tightly and presses back against me, letting out breathy moans as I gently thrust in and out of her. She feels so good wrapped around me - warm, tight and responsive - and I don't know how long I’ll be able to last.

I move my hand from her hips up to her breast, playing with her nipple while I continue to pump my hips. She takes my hand and lifts it to her face, sticking one of my fingers in her mouth so she can suck on it, and my eyes roll back into my head. I can't help but remember one of the very first times we slept together and she did that same thing - at that point, we had no idea what we were in for.

I come first, but don't stop what I’m doing until she does, too. I squeeze her breast roughly as she comes unwound, and her hips jerk erratically back against me while it happens.

When it's over, I wrap an arm around her belly and kiss the back of her shoulder. “I loved that,” she says, reaching behind her to touch my head.

“So did I,” I say, still kissing her skin. 

She pauses for a moment, then says, “Jackson.”

“Hmm?” 

“These babies will be fine,” she says, and I press my nose against the nape of her neck. “He and she will be, because they'll have us.”

I kiss her skin, warm and sweet. “Of course they will,” I say.


	18. Chapter 18

** APRIL **

At 32 weeks, I’m officially on maternity leave. I’m way too big to be on my feet operating anymore, so Arizona ordered me to stay home. Even though relaxing is nice, staying at the house alone is getting boring and it’s only been a few days. 

I slowly roll over onto my back as Jackson’s alarm goes off, feeling the tightness in my muscles as I go. “Oh, god,” I say under my breath, feeling the twins start to wake up inside me. The alarm might have woken us up, but Jackson is still deeply asleep. The air is cranked in our room, being that it’s mid-June and already sweltering outside, but I’m still sweating.

“Jackson,” I say, reaching over and touching his face. His skin is cool, unlike mine. “Wake up.”

“Mm,” he groans, forehead creasing. “Five more minutes.” 

“No five more minutes,” I say. “I’m awake. Babies are awake. Time for Daddy to wake up, too.”

He groans again, stretching an arm out with his eyes still closed. “How about you go into school today and I stay home?” he says.

I ponder what he says, though I know he’s joking. “I can,” I say.

“What?”

“Well, not the whole day. But… I don’t know, maybe I could come in and be the special reader today or something.” 

He opens his eyes slowly, pulling me close so he can kiss my forehead. “You’d wanna do that?” he asks, pushing my hair out of my face.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m tired of being by myself in the house all day.” 

“You sure?” he asks, holding the side of my face.

“Yes,” I say.

“Like, really sure?” he asks.

“Jackson, what are you worried about?” I ask, then take his wrist. “Feel. Babies are kicking.”

“God, they’re getting strong,” he says. 

“So, what are you worried about?” I ask again.

“I… you know,” he says, having difficulty with saying it. “You’ve been doing so well. Things have been really good lately. And I don’t want you being there to make everything… hard again.”  

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I want to come. It’ll make me happy. I don’t want to be here alone anymore.”

“It’ll make you happy?” he asks. “Not sad?”  

“Not sad,” I say, sliding an arm around his waist and kissing him.

“Okay,” he says. “I’d love if you came, then.”

“Just tell me what time,” I say. “And I’m there.”  

As I’m getting ready to head to the school, my phone rings. I jump at the sound, not recognizing the tone, until I realize that Jackson must have changed it to Despacito from the default to mess with me. I roll my eyes as the song plays, hearing Justin Bieber mangle what Spanish he can manage.

I’m standing at the counter doing my makeup with my hair tied up in a pretty bun, and I glance down with my mascara wand in one hand to see my mom’s picture lighting up my phone screen. I shake my head slightly and look back at the mirror, finishing up my eyelashes, only to have the ringing start all over again no more than a minute later.  

I ignore her again. I don’t have time to talk right now - I have to finish up my face, then put my clothes on so I can get out the door. I’m not going to be late.  

But she’s relentless. As I’m pulling my blue maxi dress on over my head, careful not to mess up my bun, my phone rings again. I give in and answer as I’m shoving my swollen feet into a pair of flip-flops.

“Yes, mom?” I say, trying not to sound too nasty.

“April, finally!” she says. “I thought something must have happened. You weren’t answering.”  

“I know,” I say. “I’m trying to get out the door.”

“Oh, where are you going?”

I sigh. “I’m going to see Jackson,” I say. 

“Bringing him lunch?” she asks.  

“No, I - … mom, what did you need? I can’t talk long. Is this urgent?” I say, hoisting my purse over my shoulder and making sure that I have my keys and wallet.

“Well, I was hoping we could chat for a minute. The rest of my day is pretty busy, and I was missing you. And I wanted to talk something over with you.” 

I glance at the clock, knowing that it would make more sense time-wise to take the car. But I haven’t been in a car alone behind the wheel since it happened, and now is not the time for that. Plus, I’m not even sure that I can fit with how big my belly has gotten.

“Do you have a minute?” she asks. “Just a minute.”

“Sure,” I say breathlessly, walking down the stairs while trying to see over my belly. I lock the gate behind me and start down the sidewalk. “I’m just walking to the train.”

“You’re breathing awful heavy,” she says. “Can’t you drive instead?”  

“No, mom,” I snap. “I’m fine. What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh,” she says. “Well, it was actually along that same thought. I would really like to see you, honey, and help you set up your house for these babies. How would you feel about me coming to visit for a few days?”

“I…” I situate my purse to rest higher. “Mom, our house is fine.”

“Do you have a nursery?” she asks. 

“Not yet,” I retort.  

“These babies could come any day now! You know that multiples-”

“I know multiples come early,” I say, cutting her off. “But my OB says that they’re doing fine. They still have plenty of room and they’re comfortable.”

“Are  _you_  comfortable?”

“Of course not,” I say. “I’m huge. I’m tired, my feet are swollen, and I can’t sleep. I’m hot all the time, my sense of smell is way too strong, but good news. My hair is beautiful.”  

She chuckles lightly. “You sound like a stressed-out mom.”  

“I’m fine,” I insist. “I’ve just been dealing with a lot.”  

“Then let me help you!” she says, sounding cheery and insistent. “I’d love to come and help. Summer’s almost here, I have plenty of time.”

“Mom, no,” I say. “Jackson is more than enough help. I’m not going to ask you to come all the way out here and take time out of your life to do something that we can manage ourselves. We’re fine. I swear.”

“You’re not asking me to do it,” she says. “I’m offering. It’s very different. April, this would make me so happy.”

I get to the Damen blue line station and press my Ventra card to the scanner, and carefully go through the turnstile. “Mom, I don’t know,” I say. “Let me think about it and talk it over with Jackson. I don’t know right now.”

“Okay,” she says, giving in. “Well, let me know. You know I’d love to.”  

“Okay, mom,” I say. “I’m gonna go now. I have to get on the train.”

She tells me she loves me and hangs up, and when I slip my phone back into my purse, I rub my temples and sigh. The last thing I need is for another person in my house, thinking they’re helping. Having her around would only stress me out more, but that’s not something that I can just tell her.  

Someone gives up their seat for me on the train and I lower myself down into it, resting my head against the window to think over what my mom said. Even when I get to my stop, I still don’t have an answer. I already know what Jackson will say in regards to it; we should let her come. I know that’s the right thing to do, I just don’t want to get anxious and panicky about the twins’ birth even more than I already am. 

The kids are still at recess when I waddle through the hallway to Jackson’s classroom. I knock on the door and peer in to find him sitting at his desk, eyebrows furrowed with concentration as he writes something down. When he hears the knock, though, he looks up and his eyes shine with recognition. “Hey, babe,” he says, standing. “You made it.”  

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and look for a place to sit, but all of the chairs are only about two inches from the ground. I can’t get down there, let alone get back up.

“Here, sit in mine,” he says, leading me towards his swivel chair. I sit down and feel my muscles relax, leaning my head against the back of it. “Did you take the train here?” he asks. 

I nod, one hand on my bump. The twins are very active right now.

“Figured you would,” he says. “Here, have some of this.” He hands me his water bottle and I slug it down, letting out a long breath after I’m done. “Feel better?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” I say, fanning myself. I’ve started to cool down a little, but I’m always a bit too warm. That’s not going to change, even with my hair pulled up off my neck. “So, what am I reading today?” I ask. 

“Anything you want,” he says. “But they’re really into Arthur right now.”

“I can do an Arthur,” I say. “That sounds good.”

He sits on his desk after moving some papers out of the way and takes one of my hands. “How was your morning?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say. “My mom called.”

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah,” I say. “She wants to come stay with us for a week.”

He nods, probably gathering from my tone how I feel about that. “What’d you tell her?” he asks.

“Well, I wasn’t going to give her an answer without consulting you,” I say. “It’s your life that she’s gonna come barging into, too.” 

He laughs a little. “I like your mom,” he says. “It might be nice for her to be here.”

“I knew you’d say that,” I grumble. 

He messes with my fingers, pulling and separating them. “You don’t want her here?” he asks.

“I’m just worried it’ll stress me out,” I say. “It’s not like I need any more of that.”

“I know,” he says. “But she also might be able to help. If she wants to, why not?”  

I narrow my eyes at him. “I hate it when you’re right,” I say.

He stands up and gives me a soft peck on the lips. “I know,” he says.“I’m gonna go get the kids.” I stand up across from him and he wraps his arms around my waist, then lower to grab my butt.

“Hey…” I warn, glancing towards the door. “Not here.”

He buries his face in my neck and presses his lips gently to my skin. “You smell so good…” he murmurs, grip tightening.

“Jackson,” I say firmly. “Children. Outside. You go, now.”  

He sighs, but pulls away as he knows I’m right. “Reading circle’s right over there, if you wanna set my chair up at the edge of the rug,” he says. “Tease.” 

I roll my eyes and do as he says, but choose not to sit down quite yet. I stand as I watch the kids come in, dirty and sweaty from the playground, but with smiles on their faces.

“Hey, I know you,” a little voice says. The classroom is getting increasingly louder as they all file in, but I pinpoint the speaker as a little brunette girl. Julia. I recognize her from the funeral.

“Everyone, this is our guest reader today,” Jackson says, once everyone is sitting down. “This is April. Can everybody say ‘hi, April?’”

In unison, they follow suit.

“And do you know why April is special?” Jackson asks, raising his eyebrows and setting his hands on the back of the chair. Everyone shakes their heads. “She’s my wife. Do you know what that means?"

A bunch of hands shoot into the air. Jackson calls on a curly-haired blonde boy near the front. 

“It means you’re married. And you live together and kiss on the lips,” he says.

Everyone giggles, and Jackson’s hand moves to my shoulder. “You’re right, Nicky,” he says.

Another hand rockets into the air, and Jackson calls on the little girl who asks, “Why do you have a big belly?” 

I smile slightly. “I have a big belly because I’m pregnant,” I say, touching the bump. “And I don’t just have one baby inside me, I have  _two_.”

Sounds of amazement circle around the rug, and I grin proudly. I had almost forgotten how receptive and responsive kids this age are; how interested they are in everything.

Jackson calls on the brunette who had recognized me moments ago. “I have a twin brother!” she says excitedly.  

“Oh, really?” I reply. “Well, how crazy is that? Because my twins are a boy and a girl, too.”

She smiles at that fact, shoulders up to her ears with bashfulness. Once the room calms down, she speaks again. “You’re Alaina’s mommy,” she says, making steady eye contact.

The air feels like it gets pushed out of me. Jackson’s grip tightens slightly on my shoulder as he says, “We’re not here to talk about that right now. We’re here to read.”

“It’s okay,” I say, soft but firm. “Yes, I am,” I tell Julia and the whole class. “I am Alaina’s mommy.”  

“Not anymore,” someone pipes up. I can’t locate the voice. “Not anymore ‘cause she’s gone.”

“No, not exactly,” I say. “You can still be someone’s mommy, even if they’re in heaven. Even if you can’t see them. Kinda like… I can’t see my twins right now. Right? I can’t see them, you can’t see them, Mr. Avery can’t see them. But I’m still their mommy. Right?” A few murmurs of assent sound through the crowd. “And I’m still Alaina’s mommy in that same way. I can’t see her, but she’s still my baby. I’m always gonna be her mommy, no matter what.” 

No one fights me on it; I didn’t think they would. I feel good about what I’ve said not only for their sake, but for mine, too.

***

At the beginning of the next week, Jackson is done with school and my mother flies in. As we wait for her in the airport, I find a chair to sit in and Jackson keeps an eye out for a redhead that will be much too perky. 

“There’s gonna be three people in the house,” I say. “Neither of us are working right now. We’re gonna go crazy.”

“Shush,” he says. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Just as he speaks, she comes walking down a wide hallway waving maniacally. “There you are!” she calls, still too far away from us to have a conversation.

When she gets closer, Jackson gives her a big hug. “Nice to see you, Karen,” he says. 

She frames his face in both of her hands. “It’s been way too long,” she says, then lets him go to walk over to me. “Hey, baby girl.”

I stand up so she can give me a hug, and it lasts for a very long time. “Hi, mom,” I say.

“You look wonderful, sweetie,” she says. “You’re absolutely glowing.” 

I rest one hand over my belly. “Yeah, glowing and huge,” I say.

She chuckles. “When are these little sweethearts due?”

“Technically not until August,” I say. “But with twins, like we said, you just don’t know. My OB said that they’re still comfortable, though, so we’re not worried.”

We keep conversing as we walk out of the airport towards the car. “I can’t believe how active you still are,” Mom says, taking my arm. “When I was pregnant with you and your sisters, I barely lifted a finger after 32 weeks. And I just had one inside me!”

“I like to keep busy,” I say. “It’s easier that way.”

“Not this week,” she says. “You let me take care of you.”  

“Mom…” I say, glancing at Jackson. He meets my eyes, but only briefly. “I’m fine. Honestly. We’ve been doing just fine.”  

We get in the car and head home, and when we get there I’m exhausted from traveling and I wasn’t even the one on the plane. “Who wants some lunch?” Mom asks.

“Karen, you really don’t have to,” Jackson says, following her into the kitchen. “I can make lunch for the two of you.” 

“Both of you,” Mom says, hands out and fingers spread. “Listen to me. I want to take care of you. It makes me happy. It makes me feel good when I do it, so will you please just let me? I promise, I want to!” She looks at both of us. “I know you’re tired April, I can see it in your eyes. So why don’t you lay down on the couch, and Jackson… if it makes you feel better, you can help me in the kitchen.”

I chuckle a little bit. “Go easy on him, mom,” I say, lowering myself down onto the couch and lying on my back. I listen to their quiet chatter, but only for a moment before I fall into a light sleep. 

Jackson wakes me up seemingly seconds later with a kiss on the forehead. “Lunch is ready,” he says. “We made chicken salad. It’s really good.”

“Of course it’s good!” Mom says from the kitchen. “It’s a Kepner family recipe.”

The three of us eat together and actually have a nice time. Later, we go out to dinner someplace close and come back to go to bed early after the long day, which means that Mom wakes up very early the next morning. In the back of my mind, I hear stuff clanging around downstairs and for a moment, think it must be Jackson, but when I open my eyes I see that he’s lying awake right next to me.

“What’s she doing,” he murmurs, when he sees I’m awake.

“Who knows,” I reply, and he extends one of his arms so I’ll lay close to his side. He kisses my forehead and I rest my cheek on his chest, one arm tight around his middle.  

“She’s an early bird like you,” he says.  

“Worse,” I say. “It’s literally impossible for her to stay in bed.”

Jackson moves his free hand to touch my belly, where the twins are still sleeping. “They’re calm,” he says.  

“It’s too early for them, too,” I say lightly. “They’re not ready to wake up yet.”  

“I don’t think you and I have much of a choice,” he says. “I think she’s making breakfast. We should go down.”

Right on cue, I smell French toast. “Can’t I kiss you for a while first?” I ask, smirking. He tips my chin up and presses his lips sweetly to mine, parting them after a moment and threading his fingers through my tangly hair.  

With our foreheads resting against each other, he takes my bottom lip between his teeth and pulls away with a pop. My smile is wide and free as I go for his mouth again, slipping my tongue between his lips and feeling his grip tighten around my shoulders and something beneath the covers poke my thigh.

“Mm, Jackson, you-” 

“April! Jackson! Breakfast is ready!”

The voice that calls us from downstairs couldn’t have been more ill-timed if she tried. I break apart from my husband see that his lips are a little puffy, and all he’s doing is staring at my mouth. “Goddamn it,” he says, pushing the covers back with a smirk.  

I giggle and watch him shake his head as he goes into the bathroom to turn the shower on. I put on my robe and tie my hair up into a ponytail and head downstairs, following the smell of breakfast wafting from the kitchen. 

We eat together and, after we’re done, are sitting at the dining room table with full bellies and empty plates. “So, you never told me,” Mom says, sitting back in her chair. “What are the names you picked?”

Jackson and I exchange a glance. “Wesley Lane for the boy,” I answer. “And Lennox Faith for the girl.”  

“Wesley and Lennox,” Mom repeats, her eyes lighting up. “Those are lovely.”

“Thanks,” I say, feeling them move and kick like they know they’re being talked about.

“What about a baby shower?” she asks.

My stomach drops. “I-I don’t really want one,” I say.

Mom leans forward. “April, I know that you don’t want a huge deal made out of it. But that’s not just what baby showers are for - they’re also to help you get a lot of supplies that you might not have. Do you have diapers? Pacifiers? Burp cloths? Clothes? Bottle cl-”  

“Mom, stop,” I say.  

“We have a lot of that stuff,” Jackson says. “We’ve been going on little shopping trips here and there and getting it slowly. You just haven’t seen it because it’s in the office upstairs.” 

“In the office?” Mom asks, eyebrows crinkling. “What about a nursery? April said…”  

I feel myself stiffen. I forgot I had already told her about that. “We haven’t quite gotten there yet,” Jackson says, his tone still conversational.

“Well, I think it’s about time!” Mom says with a smile. “By now, it should be painted, furnished, all ready for those babies. Do you have cribs? A changing table? A rocking chair, decorations?”

“Mom, it’s… been hard, we’ve been busy,” I say. “We’re getting there.”

“A bunch of baby stuff shoved into a tiny office doesn’t sound like ‘getting there,’” she says, and by her expression I can tell she really thinks she’s helping. But in reality, all she’s doing is making me feel worse. And I think Jackson feels the same way, if I’m reading him correctly. And I mostly always am. “Now, don’t get mad at me when I say this. Hear me out, okay?” Both of us are silent. “April, okay?” she repeats.

I nod.

“What would you think about turning Alaina’s room into the nursery?” she asks, hands folded on the tabletop. “It’s painted already. The furniture would have to be changed, but Lennox could use Alaina’s stuff when she’s-”

“Lennox isn’t going to use Alaina’s stuff,” I say, slamming my palms down. There’s a long, stagnant silence after my words leave my mouth, and I realize that I’m sweating. “No one’s going to use Alaina’s stuff. It’s hers.”  

“O-okay…” Mom says, eyeing me. “Then maybe it can go into storage.”

“Storage,” I say, choking on the word. “Where it can gather dust and get moldy and… and pretend like it never existed.” I ball my hands into fists. “I had her bed specially made for her. She loved those diamond knobs on her dressers. She picked that turquoise color out herself when we went to Home Depot last year and helped me paint it. I’m not covering up everything she did in that room.” I push my chair back from the table. “I’m not putting the babies in her room. I don’t know how you can come here and think you can just say stuff like that.”  

“April,” Mom says, giving me a stern look. “You can’t keep that room locked in a time capsule.”

“Watch me,” I say. “Stop trying to cover her up. Stop trying to pretend like she never existed.”

“April,” Jackson says, gently grabbing my wrist.  

“She’s trying to erase her!” I say, looking down at him. “That’s Laina’s room. They can’t have it. That’s my baby’s room, and you’re not going to take it away from her.”  

“That’s not how it works,” Mom says, watching me. I can’t look at her for very long, though. I look back to Jackson, who ushers me back down to sit in my chair. “I’m not taking anything from her, honey. She’s gone. She doesn’t need a room anymore.”

I grit my teeth. “I’m not going into that room every day and pretending like she never lived in it,” I say. “I can’t do that. I won’t. All I’m going to do is picture her standing in the middle of it, picking out her clothes. Sitting on the floor while I sit on her bed, brushing out her hair. All I’ll be able to see is her laying on a beanbag while I read to her. It won’t be the babies’ room. It just won’t be. Jackson and I have already talked about this, and I’m sorry, but it’s not your place to come barging in here to try and to tell us what to do. This is what I didn’t want, this is what I was afraid of with letting you come here,” I say, resting my elbows on the table and putting my face in my hands. “I just wanted you to let us do this. We’re figuring it out, mom, okay? Can you just let us figure it out?” 

I hear Mom sigh, and I know that I shouldn’t have said what I said with such malice. But I don’t regret the concept. I won’t have the memory of Alaina glossed over and eventually erased, that’s one thing I’m terrified of. I won’t let my mom come in and do that so easily.

I feel Jackson’s hand on my leg under the table, squeezing once. I look over at him, then to my mom, who’s looking up towards the ceiling and trying not to cry.

“I’m not trying to forget about her,” she finally says. “I’m trying to… I don’t know, help, I guess.” She meets my eyes. “But it’s obvious that I don’t know how to do that for you anymore.” Her tone isn’t vindictive or manipulative, she’s just stating facts. And I don’t refute her. “I think I’ll just go on downstairs for a while,” she says.

When I hear the guest bedroom door shut in the basement, I shake my head. “I’m not wrong, am I?” I ask Jackson.  

He slides his hand across my shoulders. “No,” he says. “Her way of grieving is forgetting. Yours is remembering. You don’t need to apologize for that. But later, you probably should apologize for how you spoke to her. She’d probably appreciate it.”  

Even though I do apologize for how I reacted, it’s hard for my mom to understand me now. That’s very evident, because she doesn’t stay in Chicago much longer. She leaves a few days earlier than she’d originally planned, but in all honesty I don’t mind. I love my mother, but being around her in such close quarters bring out such unnecessary anxiety in me. Especially right now.  

During the afternoon on the day after she leaves, Jackson walks up to me in the kitchen where I’m cutting up a banana and strawberries for a little fruit salad.  

“Hey,” I say over my shoulder. He’s just woken up from a nap and is rubbing his eyes, and I find him so unbearably cute.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice groggy. He stands next to me and wraps an arm around my back, and I hug him from the side while slipping one hand underneath his shirt to rest on his stomach.

“I love your stomach,” I say, moving my hand in slow circles.

He laughs a little bit, pulling me closer. “Because I’m ripped,” he says, lifting up his shirt to expose his muscles.

“No,” I say, smacking him softly. “I like it when you relax.”

He smiles sleepily. “Like this,” he says, pushing it out. “Look, now I’m you.”  

“You ass,” I say, shoving him. “Now I’m not giving you any of this fruit.”  

“Whatever,” he says, picking at it anyway. “Hey, I was thinking. I know a lot of what your mom said was… not okay, but I think we really should get to work on the nursery.” He looks down at my belly, which is stretching my shirt thin. “You’re about to pop. What are we gonna do, bring the babies home and make them sleep in dresser drawers?”

I laugh, I can’t help it. “I know you’re right,” I say. “It just bothered me so much, what she said.”

“I know it did,” he says.

“It’s barely been six months,” I continue.  

“I know,” he says again, kissing my temple. “The office will work fine. It’s really not that small. It’s actually big, for an office. And they’re gonna be tiny anyway. They can fit.” 

“Can all their stuff fit?” I ask, looking up at him. “Both cribs, changing table, rocking chair, dresser, all that?”

“Definitely,” he says. “I can make it work.”

We work on the nursery for the next couple weeks. Jackson puts together IKEA furniture and I do what I can, sitting on the floor with my back against the wall, squinting at directions with my legs straight out in front of me. I get it wrong almost every time, but he fixes it and we laugh.

The babies are lowering, and could come any day now. I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life, but I still get up and help Jackson put together the nursery. I don’t want to miss a single part of it, except when he paints. He insists I shouldn’t breathe in the fumes, so that day I sit out on the back porch and drink iced tea while he paints the walls a gentle seafoam.

The twins have white cribs with a yellow rocking armchair in the corner, next to a tall storage dresser with cubbies. Their names are spelled out in triangle-shaped string banners on the wall, each of them above their respective cribs. Wesley is on the left wall, Lennox on the right.

I stand in the doorway as Jackson is putting up the finishing touches and smile at all the work he’s done. “It looks beautiful in here,” I say, taking it all in. “It looks like something from a magazine.”  

He stands up and walks over to kiss me. “Only the best,” he says.

*** 

During the first week of August, I go into labor. I’m having contractions that are decently close together, pacing the living room with both hands on the small of my back.

“How far apart was that one?” I ask Jackson, who’s characteristically keeping calmer than I am.

“Ten minutes,” he says. “And you could talk through it, which means that it apparently isn’t painful enough to go to the hospital.”

I roll my eyes. “I can handle pain,” I say. “God, I just want this part to be over.”

My water hasn’t broken yet, but I desperately want it to. I started feeling contractions last night, almost 24 hours ago, but they were weak and spaced far apart. I wasn’t worried then, I almost thought they were Braxton-Hicks. But now, I know better. They’ve been getting consistently stronger and I’ve been itching to get to the hospital, but I know better than anyone that if I go too early I’ll get turned away. I just have to wait a little longer.

I expected Jackson to be nervous, but he’s hiding it well.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, pacing the hardwood floor in my socks. The air conditioning is cranked as usual, but of course, I’m still sweating. My hair is sticking to my forehead even though it’s up in a bun, and I’m only wearing a sports bra and running shorts.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yes, you.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “I’m fine.”  

“You liar,” I say, smiling and shaking my head. “Jackson, it’s okay to say you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” he says.

“I don’t believe you,” I say. “You don’t have to be the strong one here. I’ve done this before, I know how labor works. It’s gonna hurt, it’s gonna make me say things I don’t mean. But you’ve never done this before, it’s okay to be scared.” 

He stands up and rubs the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say I’m scared,” he says. “I’m just… nervous, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” I say, standing across from him and wrapping my arms around the small of his back. We don’t fit great, but that’s okay. “You’re gonna be a great daddy.”

I kiss him and we break apart smiling. “Thank you,” he says.

Time passes slowly as my contractions get closer together, but I find myself feeling calmer than ever. Right now, I’m more at ease with my babies than I’ve been for my entire pregnancy, and I’m not sure why.

It’s close to 3am, and neither of us can sleep. I’m drinking a fruit smoothie in the kitchen, and Jackson is at the counter doing a word search. I start pacing again, going through the ways to induce active labor in my head. Walking is one way, though I’ve been doing plenty of that and I don’t think it’s doing much. Spicy food is another, but we don’t have any in the house because I’ve been so averse to it for the past eight months. Sex is another, but I’m way too big and uncomfortable for that. As my train of thought goes in that direction, I remember that nipple stimulation can work too, so I start rubbing myself over my sports bra.

It catches Jackson’s attention, to say the least.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, setting his pen down.

“It can help induce active labor,” I say. “Leave me alone.”

“I know what it does, I’ve read all those books that you refused to,” he says, standing up and walking over to me. “But it’s not a good way. It can raise oxytocin and lower fetal heart rate, don’t do that. It can make your contractions last super long.”

I lower my hands and let out a long, deep sigh. “Fine,” I say. “I guess I’ll just wait forever, then.”

Forever ends up being until 5am, when my water breaks. As soon as it does, I try and stay calm - change my pants, shove my feet into my shoes, and let Jackson usher me out the door.

We get to my hospital and I’m seen right away, set up in the maternity ward and hooked up to an IV and two fetal heart monitors. I’m already 8 centimeters dilated with the babies both facing the right way, which means I’ll be able to deliver vaginally like I wanted.  

I take in deep breaths through my nose and push them out of my pursed lips as a contraction rips through me. Jackson sits near the head of my bed, clutching my hand and saying soft things in my ear that I can’t hear. I’m too concentrated on the pain.

I bite down hard on my lower lip as it feels like I’m being ripped in half.

“Is it too late for an epidural?” Jackson asks, his voice sounding urgent and terrified.  

My neck flops so my head plunks back on the pillow, and I manage to say while panting, “Don’t want one.”

“What?” he asks, looking at me with alarm.

“I’m doing this,” I say. “I can take it.”  

I can. I know I can. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again this time.  

I lose count of how many contractions I have, but Jackson stays at my side. He gives me ice chips to chew on in between and wipes my sweaty forehead with a cloth when I need it. 

“I’m gonna do this,” I tell him, and he wipes a tear away from my cheek that I hadn’t realized I shed. “We’re gonna do this.”

He gives me a lasting kiss on the forehead, holding the side of my head with one hand. “You’re so strong,” he says, and I bear down and start to push when Arizona tells me that I can. 

The human body forgets physical pain. If it remembered, after having one child a woman would stop. No one signs up for this pain voluntarily. When you’re in the throes of it, sometimes even the end result of a baby is hard to keep in perspective. All you know is that this hurts worse than anything could ever hurt and you just want it to be over with. You want the drugs. You want to be hit over the head with a frying pan. Anything, anything but this.

Your brain goes into an adaptive state. It removes you from the situation, or at least that’s what it’s doing for me. I’m not thinking about Jackson with his face buried in my neck, gripping my hand with all he’s got. I’m not thinking about Arizona coaching me from between my legs. I’m not thinking about the twins trying to make their way into the world.

What I’m thinking about is Alaina. I’m thinking about the child who introduced me to the pain and joy of being a mother, the first one to give me that title.

I’m thinking about her dimples, the curlicue hairs at the nape of her neck. I’m thinking about her first smile; when she looked up at me at 6 weeks old, made eye contact and smiled like we were old friends. Like she’d always known me, and had just been waiting patiently for me to figure out that I was hers.

I’m thinking about the way she’d slip her hand into mine casually as we walked down the sidewalk. I loved the feeling of it, just knowing she was there. I’m thinking about the way that she’d say ‘I love you more,’ and give kisses at bedtime, hugging my neck while I bent over her bed.

I’m thinking about when I held her for the first time, marveled at her tiny face, her squishy cheeks and pinched-closed eyes. I’m thinking about the way I felt with a life in my arms that was mine I created, then mine to hold.

Mine to keep, forever and for always. No matter what, she’s my child. No matter if I can see her or if I can’t, she’s my daughter. And nothing will ever change that.

An ear-splitting cry tears me from my reverie, and Arizona holds a squirming, screaming baby up into the air. “Baby A!” she says enthusiastically. “It’s a boy!”

I start breathing louder, quick and shallow, as I look at Jackson. “It’s a boy,” I pant. “Wesley. That’s our Wesley.”

I can still hear him crying. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

“Daddy, do you wanna cut the cord?” Arizona asks, and I do my best to watch Jackson as I lie there on my back, completely spent. I feel so weak, weaker than I imagined I’d feel. I’m not sure if I can go through this a second time.

Wesley’s cord is cut, and he spends only a moment away from me before getting placed on my chest. His screaming has quieted, and now he’s just blinking confusedly up at me.

“Hi, Wes,” I say. “Hi, baby boy. I’m your mama.” I bend my neck so I can kiss his forehead, and my arms feel as limp as noodles. “You’re so big and healthy,” I say. “You’re so beautiful.”

Jackson peers over and sets his hand on the bundle that is our baby boy. “He looks just like you,” he says.  

My vision starts to go black around the edges, like I’m about to pass out. The room spins, and I can barely keep my eyes open. “Take him,” I hurriedly say, and Jackson swoops the baby out of my arms.

“That’s too much blood,” I hear Arizona say. “Damn it, that’s too much blood. Get me a crash cart, now. She’s bleeding out.”


	19. Chapter 19

** JACKSON  **

There are tears streaming down my cheeks as I sit in the hallway, staring at my newborn son’s face. Our surroundings are quiet and he is asleep - it’s just the two of us.

April raised one child on her own for almost three years. She made it look easy; she played super-mom and surgeon at the same time. She ran their household, went to work, and made sure Alaina was clean, clothed and fed without any outside help.

I don’t think I’ll be able to do that.

Wesley’s weight is warm and substantial in my arms. He’s tiny and terrifying. I have no idea, not the first clue, how to begin taking care of him. I’m already dreading the moment that his diaper gets full, because I’ve never changed one in my life. Once he turns three, I’ll be fine. I know how to handle kids. But babies and toddlers? I’m in over my head.

We were supposed to have two babies. I walked out with one. Me, alone. Standing in the hallway with my son, just the two of us. No mother, no sister. Just us. 

“What are we gonna do, buddy?” I say tearfully, stroking Wesley’s cheek with my thumb. His skin is impossibly smooth, just like his mother’s. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know the first thing about being a dad. Your mom was gonna teach me… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” 

I lean my head back against the wall and let out a long sigh. Wesley stays still, peacefully asleep in my arms. I guess it’s a lot of work, being born.

I’ve lived alone for the majority of my adult life, except when I had roommates in college. And I liked it. I was good at being alone, at least that’s what I thought until I didn’t have to be anymore. I figured out that more than being alone, I love being in a partnership with April and always knowing that I have someone to fall back on. I love waking up next to her, coming home to her, and everything in between.  

I look back down at Wesley’s face and can only see his mother in his features. I know his face will grow and change and he won’t look much like he does right now - all squishy and flat - but to me, he still looks like her. And it’s making my chest hurt.

I don’t think I’ll be able to watch him grow up as an only child, without a twin. He’s supposed to have a twin, he’s supposed to have that sister. April is supposed to watch them both grow up. We’re supposed to be woken up a million times a night by two babies crying, get zero sleep, and be tired zombies together. We’re supposed to celebrate all of their milestones as a family. She wanted to start working on their baby books right away. I don’t have a crafty bone in my body, there’s no way I’ll be able to do them any justice.

I don’t know how long I sit in the hallway for. It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been days. But I don’t move; I stay there with my baby son in my arms, waiting for something to change.

A nurse takes Wesley eventually and I’m left there to sit alone. This feels hauntingly like being in the hospital when Alaina died, isolated from everyone because of their grief I could not share. But now, sitting here by myself on an empty bench, the grief that settles over me is completely my own. I hold it just like I held my son, tight in my arms, close to my chest. I don’t plan on ever letting it go. It sits heavy on top of me, inside me, and throughout my entire being.

I know nothing.

I sit with my hands folded in my lap until I hear footsteps hurrying down the hall. I look up to see Arizona walking towards me, looking expectant and rushed. “Jackson,” she breathes, and I stand.

I was rushed out of the room when April started to bleed out. Only emergency personnel was allowed, and I’m not a surgeon. I was only getting in the way.

“She’s stable,” Arizona says. “She’s sleeping.”

My body floods with an indescribable feeling, and I can’t stay on my feet. I collapse back to the bench and grip the armrest tightly, letting my tears flow without trying to hide them. 

Arizona sits down beside me, one hand between my shoulder blades. “Little Lennox Faith is fine, too,” she says. “She’s a little underweight, but most second twins are.” She flashes me a small smile. “She’s strong like mom.”  

I cover my face with my hands as I double over, elbows on my knees. They’re alive. The twins, April… they’re all alive.

“She’s gonna be okay?” I ask, trying to catch my breath.

Arizona nods and pats my back. “She’s going to be just fine.”

“Can I see her?” I ask, and am so grateful when she says yes. 

The babies are in the nursery - I still haven’t met Lennox yet, but standing in the doorway of April’s hospital room, she’s the only person on my mind. Seeing her here still reminds me way too much of the previous time I saw her in a hospital bed, and I hate it.

She’s sound asleep, her head turned to one side. I pull up a chair next to her bed and take one of her hands in both of mine, kissing her skin repeatedly. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” I say, my lips against her knuckles. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t.”

Her eyelashes flutter as she starts to stir, and I pull back. When she opens her eyes fully, the first thing she concentrates on is my face. 

“Hi, baby,” I say softly, still grasping her hand. 

“Hi,” she says softly, her voice raspy. “Are they okay?”

I reach out and stroke her cheek with the backs of my fingers. “They’re fine,” I say. “Healthy.”

“Even Lennox?” she says. 

“That’s what Arizona said,” I reply. “I held Wesley for a long time. He looks just like you.”  

She smiles and chuckles weakly, her eyelids drifting closed again. I can’t stop staring at her face. I am so thankful that she’s here.

“Will you come up here?” she asks, gingerly scooting over. “I want you next to me.”

I carefully climb up on the hospital bed and wrap my arms around her, and she folds herself against my chest. I plant kisses all over her face, unable to contain my relief that she made it through. That they all did - everyone is strong and recovering. We’re going to be fine.

She giggles and halfheartedly pushes me away, dropping her chin to her chest. “I thought I lost you,” I admit. 

“Of course you didn’t,” she says. “Don’t be silly.”

“You were bleeding out,” I say seriously. “I thought you were dying.”

“I’m not dying,” she says. “I promise.” She rests her head on my shoulder and I tighten my arm around her. “Are you?”

“No,” I say. “Not anytime soon, at least.”

“No impending doom I should be worrying about? No plane crashes, no brain tumors?”

“No, nothing,” I say.

“Me, neither,” she says, her voice growing heavy. “And after I wake up… let’s meet our twins.” 

** APRIL **

Breastfeeding twins is not an easy feat. Breastfeeding just one child was hard enough - Alaina was horrible at latching and I gave up way too easily. But with Wesley and Lennox, I’m hellbent on breastfeeding. It’s good for their development, and I need the time to bond and get to know them.

It takes a while for me to be able to get up on my own. Weeks, actually, but I cherish the independence when my emergency C-section scar heals and I’m able to get out of bed by myself. In the middle of the night when the twins are 6 weeks old, I hear Wesley’s insistent cry first.

“I can get them…” Jackson says, instantly sitting up.

“No, no,” I say. “You brought them to me last time. Let me get up.”

“You sure?” he says. “No, I should get up. I should help. You’ll need it.”

“No, Jackson,” I say, gently pushing him back down to a laying position. “I’ve got them. It’s nice for me to go see them alone once in awhile. You need your rest.”

He gives in and lies back down, and I push myself from the mattress to head into the nursery. Both of them are crying now, and I recognize that hungry wail out of the rest of their arsenal of sounds.  

I’m still getting used to feeding both of them at once. I flick the light on its dimmest setting and grab Wesley out first, and he quiets almost instantly after being in my arms. When I hold Lennox, though, soothing her isn’t so easy.

I sit down in the rocking chair and cradle them both, guiding their mouths to my chest. They’re getting better at it just like I am, but it still takes them some time to find their way. 

“Come on, you can do it,” I encourage softly, lifting each of them slightly. Wesley gets there first, like always. Lennox takes longer and whines because of it; she needs the extra help that only one of my arms can give her. “Come on, baby,” I say. “There you go, Lennox. There you go.”

Once they’re both attached, I can’t help but stare down at their round heads. They’re six weeks old, but they each already have the beginnings of Jackson’s thick curls. There’s a specific face that Wesley makes that reminds of Jackson when he’s frustrated, and Lennox will only fall asleep really soundly for a nap if she’s as close to me as humanly possible. I’m starting to get used to all their little quirks, though it’s been decently difficult to get attached.

Wesley sighs as he eats, and I situate my arm under each of them so we can all be comfortable. It’s not a great setup, with two pillows and two babies attached to me, but it’s the best I can do. They’re on the same eating schedule, and this is easier than listening to one cry while I nurse the other.

Lennox’s lips move with her eyes closed, but Wesley is looking up at me without focusing. I smile gently down at the both of them, feeling my chest fill with a sensation that I’ve been feeling in droves since they were born. Impeccable sadness and joy, mixed together in a strange combination.

Alaina and the twins would’ve been six years and four months apart. With their birth, I’ve become a mother to two living children and a spirit - two children on one side of the curtain, and another whispering from beneath it. My confusion is constant, and in my moments of weakness I succumb to it. I had a child die, and I chose to become a mother again. There is no greater definition of stupidity or bravery, insanity or clarity, hubris or grace.

As I watch my twins eating peacefully, I have the strong urge for Alaina to know them. And even stronger, for them to be able to know Alaina. She would’ve loved them. She would’ve been the most wonderful big sister. As I relax deeper against the cushions of the rocking chair, I wonder how much different our lives would be if she were still alive. I have three children. Where is the other one?

At five, my child was a person - she had opinions and fixed beliefs, preferences and tendencies, a group of friends and favorite foods. What is supposed to happen when that child was swiftly ripped from me in an accident caused by tires skidding on a slippery road right off the lake, at the exact moment I had given up thinking that something could take all this away? 

When I’m on the playground years from now, while watching the twins take a fall off the slide or the monkey bars, I might not panic. But some part of me will remember: a heartbeat can stop. Hearing a heartbeat for the first time during the ultrasound, and then crouching by my daughter’s lifeless body lying naked on a bed five years later, I stopped thinking of a heartbeat as a constant and more of a favorable weather condition. Now, Alaina’s absence is a reminder of the most unwelcome message in human history: children don’t always live.

I’m still bent on the idea that the twins won’t live a day past five years and eight months. I’m grimly certain that they’ll die then - they have to. 100% of my children have suffered that same fate. Even as I keep them safe in this big, loud world, huddled against my chest, I’m holding a breath that I won’t release until they turn exactly one day older than Alaina.

Children, hospitals, blood. It’s all a confused swirl of joy and agony. Somewhere in my subconscious, Alaina is on a scale - her birth weight being calculated. In the same moment, she is blue and cold and being carted away. All I am is a spectator. Her body is no longer mine to protect, no longer mine to save.

Jackson and I are young still. With the twins’ birth, I’ve committed to another round here on earth. They will always have a dead sister; when I’m 50, my heart will ache in the same way it does today. Children remain dead in a way that adults do not, and on bad mornings, in the wrong light, everything from here on out feels like ashes.

Thankfully, the bad days have grown to be less than the good. I never thought that would happen. I never knew it could be possible. A warm breeze off the lake, the sun setting downtown between the buildings, listening to Jackson laugh, holding both babies in my arms - those are the things that help the shadows disappear. I look at my already-fattening twins, and this world - the one that senselessly killed my first daughter - becomes beautiful again.

I talk to them about their sister. I tell them,  _your mommy will always be sad your sister’s not here_.  _But you fill Mommy’s heart up with joy and she loves you more than anything._ There’s more I want to say, but I keep it in. Like:  _I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ll never be the same mother I was before. I’m sorry that you will always live with me, to some degree, in grief._

But on the other hand, life is good. Alaina had  _loved_ it. She found every second of it delightful and was her happiest when she shared it with others. I think of her hand touching my cheek and muster every ounce of bravery that I can.  _It’s a beautiful world_ , I tell the twins, and will myself to believe it. We are here to share it.  

***

That next morning, Lennox wakes us up first. I can tell her demanding cry over Wesley’s, and it makes my eyes flip open. I push the covers back and Jackson stirs, too, swinging his legs so his feet hit the floor. 

“You can sleep in, if you want,” he says. “I can go see what they want.”

“They’re probably gonna be hungry,” I say. “Not much you can do about that.”

He chuckles and we walk to the nursery together, met by an eye-watering scent once we get there. “Oh, Jesus,” Jackson says. “Looks like we got some work to do.”

“I’ll get Wes,” I say, gravitating towards the crib I always gravitate towards.

“Hey, Lenny!” Jackson says, cooing at his daughter. I pick a still-sleepy Wesley up out of his crib and hold him on my chest, turning around to see my husband. He cradles our baby girl and kisses her forehead even as she whimpers and whines, then brings her over to the changing table.

At first, he was squeamish about changing diapers. He had no idea how to do it, and he didn’t really want to. But now, he’s basically an old pro. He can go faster than I can, with just as much accuracy. I think he just likes turning it into a competition.  

“There, that’s better, right?” he asks Lennox, nuzzling her face. “Wanna go see your mommy? Say, good morning, mommy!”

“Not right now,” I say, bringing Wes over to take his turn on the changing table. I smile down at him while I put him in a fresh diaper and onesie, then lift him off again. “Okay,” I say. “Who’s hungry?”

I sit down in the rocking chair and Jackson helps me adjust the twins so they can eat comfortably. It’s a lot easier than doing it by myself, I have to admit. He sits down on the ottoman across from me, leaning forward to touch the back of their heads as I help them adjust.

Wesley, as usual, latches right away and starts eating with enthusiasm - one hand resting in my hair. Lennox grunts and whines as she tries to find her way, and a wave of exhaustion and annoyance washes over me.

“Come on,” I say, trying to stay as gentle as I can.

“She can’t find it again?” Jackson asks, standing up.  

“She never can right away,” I say. “Arizona taught me a few techniques, but it just takes her so long. And when she finally does…” I wince a little bit as Lennox latches. “It hurts.”

“Maybe you should switch them up,” he suggests.  

“I switch them every time,” I snap. “Something’s just different with her.”

“Is she okay?” he asks.

“She’s fine,” I answer. “I don’t know what it is.”

He sits back down across from me and touches the babies’ backs. “Are  _you_  okay?” he says.  

I furrow my eyebrows. “I’m fine. Why?”

He shakes his head. “I know it’s hard for you, having a girl again,” he says quietly. “But you can’t take it out on her.”

My face grows hot. “I’m not,” I say quickly, though I don’t know how much truth that statement holds. “I wouldn’t do that. She’s a baby.”

He gives me a loaded look, then flicks his eyes back down to the twins.

“I know she’s not her,” I say, my voice wavering. “I know I need to be better.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean,” he says. “You’re the best mom in the world. These two are so freaking lucky to have you. I just don’t want you to be constantly… I don’t know, comparing Lennox to her sister.” 

Her sister. Hearing those words out loud, spoken by someone else in reference to Alaina makes my gut twist. She would’ve loved to own that title. I would’ve gotten her a shirt that said ‘best big sister’ on it, and she would’ve been so proud.

“Of course I’m comparing her,” I admit, for the first time out loud. “She’s my second daughter. I see Alaina in everything she does.” 

“I know,” he says softly.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” I say. “I don’t know if it ever will.”

We sit in silence until the babies are done eating, then each take one to burp. I rub Wesley’s back with a burp cloth on my shoulder, and he complies just perfectly. Jackson has Lennox, who usually takes a bit longer to pass gas, so he bounces her around the room while rubbing her back in slow circles. 

In a split second, Lennox burps up some milky white mess all over Jackson’s shoulder - of course the one not covered in a burp cloth. He freezes in place, face scrunched up in a hilarious expression, and I can’t help but start to laugh.

“This is a very interesting smell,” he says, mouth all pinched. “Take her, take her. I gotta get this off me.”

I hold both babies in my arms as he strips his shirt off. “Did you barf all over Daddy?” I ask Lennox, peering down at her face.

“She probably did it because she knows how much you like seeing me shirtless,” he says, flexing.  

“Oh, shut up,” I say, handing Lennox back. I walk over to him and place a hand over his stomach. “What I love is the sympathy weight you gained. It looks good on you.”

He covers my hand with his own and rolls his eyes. “I didn’t gain sympathy weight,” he says. 

“Whatever you say,” I lilt, walking out of the room. “Come on, let’s go downstairs. We can turn on the TV and play for a little while.”

Jackson makes breakfast while I sit on the floor with the twins, jingling plastic, crinkly toys in their line of vision and watching their jerky movements. It’s amazing, how babies start out as helpless little creatures who could never survive without someone taking care of them and then turn into capable humans with opinions and questions. As I watch them gurgle and coo on the floor, I can’t help but wonder what kind of people they will turn into.

Will they act like she did? Will they be stubborn in the mornings and cuddly at night? Will they want to hear a million stories before bedtime and get calluses on their hands from the monkey bars? Will they insist on ordering for themselves at restaurants and be able to charm any adult with just a few simple words? Will they want to play soccer; will I let them? Will they go to her old school; will Jackson be their teacher? And the unknown that scares me the most: will how much I love them ever amount to how much I love her?

Interrupting my thoughts, Jackson walks into the living room balancing two plates of breakfast. He sets mine next to me on the coffee table and sits on the couch in full view of the three of us, crunching on bacon. 

“Sympathy weight,” I say under my breath, just to get his goat. He nudges my side with his foot and I giggle, taking a piece off of my own plate.

I make face at the twins while I eat, and Lennox watches me with curious intensity as she kicks her legs straight out. “Hi, honey,” I say, raising my eyebrows and giving her a big grin. “Hi, honey.”  

I can feel Jackson’s eyes on me, and when I glance over he’s giving me a warm look.

“What?” I say.

He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “Just watching.”  

I bend at the waist and kiss Lennox’s cheeks with one hand on Wesley’s belly. “Your daddy’s a creep,” I say, hearing Jackson continuing to crunch on his bacon. “A creep who loves food way too much.” 

“Hey,” he says, laughing.

I sit up and tickle my daughter’s belly, and I’m blown away when her lips pull up in her first smile as she looks at me. I widen my eyes and gasp, hands freezing on her body. “She smiled,” I breathe. “She looked at me and smiled.”

“What?” Jackson says, setting his plate aside and lowering down to the floor next to me. “Who did?”

“Lennox,” I say. I pick her up and hold her on my lap, supporting her back with my arm. “She smiled. Come on, little lady, do it again for Dada. Can you smile?” I tickle her belly again, and she makes eye contact and grins for a second time, right at me.  

My face heats up as tears stream down my face. I set her gently back down on the blanket next to her brother and throw myself into Jackson’s arms, weeping against his neck.

“She smiled,” I sob, my fingers clutching at his back. “Oh, Jackson. She smiled.”

*** 

We’ve needed a while to be at home by ourselves with the babies, but when they’re 8 weeks old I finally allow Mark and his crew to come over. When we open the door, they’re barely visible because of all the gifts they’re carrying - balloons and all.

“Oh, my gosh,” I say, laughing. “Come in. You guys didn’t have to do all this. This is way too much.”

“It’s not enough,” Mark says, setting down his bouquet of balloons. “Callie’s bringing up the rear with gifts for the babies.” He chuckles. “We tore up BuyBuy Baby yesterday.”

“How can you not go crazy when you’re buying for babies?” Arizona says lightly, ushering Sofia inside. “Hi, April. You look amazing.” She gives me a lasting hug and a kiss on the cheek, then pulls away to hold me at arm’s length. “You doing okay?”

I nod. I know she’s worried at me being at risk for postpartum, but I really actually have been doing okay. Each day, things get a little better. A little easier.

“Yeah,” I say, giving her a closed-lipped smile. “Thanks.”

“We picked up a ton of stuff for them,” Callie says, depositing everything on the dining room table. “Outfits, diapers, hats, socks, you freaking name it and we got it. I’m pretty sure we cleared out that store.”

“Where are those little babies?” Arizona asks.  

“She’s been talking about them nonstop,” Mark says, kicking off his shoes.

“Well, I was the first to see them,” she says.  

“She said they’re the most beautiful babies she’s ever delivered,” Callie says.

“And I know they’ve only gotten cuter,” Arizona says.

I laugh. “They’re in the living room with Daddy.”  

Mark nods slowly. “Ah, Daddy. Avery’s been waiting long enough to be called that.” His facial expression changes and he looks at me urgently. “Not in the weird way.”

“What’s the weird way?” Sofia asks, peering up at her father.  

“Don’t worry about it,” Mark says quickly, then leads the way past the kitchen into the living room where Jackson is lying on the floor next to the babies.

“Hey, guys,” he says, sitting up. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

“Would you look at these babies,” Arizona says, lowering herself to the floor.

“Can I see them?” Sofia asks.

“Come sit down,” Callie says. “Be careful and gentle.”

I smile at Sofia watching the babies and can’t help but feel a little pang in my heart when she dangles a colorful toy above Lennox’s head. I force myself to look away. It hurts too much.   

“Do you wanna hold someone?” I ask. Both Arizona and Callie say yes, so I start with picking Wesley off of the ground. Without much hesitation, he reaches his hand out first for my hair and then plants his hand on my breast, working on his gripping function.

Mark, of course, laughs. “‘Atta boy,” he says.  

“Shut up,” I say, rolling my eyes. “He doesn’t know how to let go yet.”

I hand Wesley to Callie and Lennox to Arizona, then Jackson gets up from the floor. “Anyone want something to drink?” he asks.  

“Can I have milk?” Sofia asks.  

“Coming right up,” Jackson says, and as he opens the fridge, he picks up a container filled with milk and takes a drink out of it before I can say anything.  

“Jackson!” I call out, but it’s already too late. His face screws up in confusion, and I finish my sentence. “That’s breastmilk,” I say, unable to control my giggles.

He hurries over to the sink and spits it out, staring ahead with a grimace on his face. “I… yeah,” he says, sighing. “That is definitely breastmilk.”  

“Jackson drank the milk from Auntie April’s boobies!” Sofia squeals, her hands covering her mouth.  

“What a man,” Mark says, laughing. “What’d it taste like?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Jackson says, pouring a glass of 2% for Sofia. “It kinda tasted almost like vanilla.” 

“Jackson,” I say, frowning in his direction.

“It did!” he says.

“He’s getting ideas,” Mark says, lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

“Stop,” I say, smacking Mark on the shoulder. “Shut up, enough out of the both of you.”

We have a good rest of the day with the four of them, and I’m exhausted by the time they leave after dinner. The twins are down for a few hours, and Jackson is brushing his teeth while I fold and sort the outfits that they brought us.  

“Callie and Arizona got them so many matching outfits,” I say. “But these are my favorite.”

I hold up two matching white onesies, each with the names Wesley and Lennox printed on the front with boxes next to them. One of them has the box next to Wesley’s name checked, and the other has Lennox’s box checked.

“Very clever,” Jackson says, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “But I doubt we’re going to be mixing them up anytime soon.”

“Thought that counts,” I say, smiling.

I hear the toothbrush clink and the light switches off in the bathroom just as I’m setting all the baby clothes on top of our dresser. “Such a long day,” I say, plopping down onto the bed. “I’m exhausted. And I think my right hip is out.”  

“Want a massage?” he asks, climbing onto the bed behind me.  

“Would you really?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says. “I just have my hands. No oils or candles or anything fancy, I hope you’ll forgive me.”  

“This once,” I say. “How do you want me?” 

He chuckles under his breath. “One of my favorite things to hear you say,” he mutters. I roll my eyes. “On your stomach first. I’ll work on your hip after.”

I do as I’m told and rest my head on my forearms, turned to one side so I can look out the window. Jackson straddles my hips with one knee on either side of them, then rests his hands on the small of my back as he gets situated.

“Shirt has to come off,” he says.  

I wriggle my way out of both my shirt and my bra, enjoying the feeling of the soft comforter against my bare skin. And to make it even better, Jackson’s hands are magic. He pushes his thumbs into my tight muscles, and leans his weight into the tension in my lower back. I close my eyes and let a breathy moan escape, and I hear him laugh.

“Feel nice?” he asks.

“Nice is an understatement,” I murmur. “Don’t stop.” 

As he continues to knead my sore muscles, I feel his lips press against the base of my neck. He draws a path lower, slowly kissing his way down my spine, and I melt even further underneath him. “Mm,” I groan. “That feels so good, Jackson.”

He turns me over to lie on my back and pulls my jeans off so he can get at my hip. He massages the sore one with both hands and I let my eyes flutter closed, taking in a quick breath when I feel his lips below my bellybutton.

We haven’t had sex since the twins were born. We haven’t really had the time or the inclination; we’ve both been exhausted from taking care of them. But now, I find myself really wanting to. I’ve missed him.

“Jackson,” I say. “Do you want to…?” 

“Oh, god, yes,” he says quickly.  

I laugh. “Did you have an ulterior motive with your massage?” I ask him.

“Of course not,” he says, pulling off my underwear. “But I’m not complaining.”

When he pushes inside me, it’s like a reunion. Sex was how we first got to know each other, and being intimate with him is so familiar. It feels like a part of home, like an essential part of being married to him. He’s such a physical person - and while he’s well-spoken enough, the way he shows his feelings best is through his body.

“I love you,” he says, his face buried in my neck. “I love you so much.”  

I wrap my arms tight around his lower back, keeping him as close as possible. “You are the best thing that ever could’ve happened to me,” I say, raking my nails over his skin as he thrusts into me. “I mean that.”

He opens his mouth on my pulse point and runs his tongue over it, which makes me moan. He pushes himself up a little bit and situates my hips how he wants them, shoving a pillow underneath the small of my back so I’m at some sort of an incline.

When I come, he steals the sounds from me with his lips crushed against my own. I claw at his shoulders for something to keep me grounded, and he keeps thrusting into me until he has his orgasm, too.

As we’re both breathing heavily, I stop him from rolling away. “Don’t go yet,” I say, framing his face in my hands. “I just wanna stay here for a second.”

Right now, I feel full. Complete. He and I are in the same place we began - in a bed, in love. So much as changed, yet from the outside looking in, it would look as if nothing was different.

I kiss him softly, letting my lips linger over his as I pull away. When I open my eyes back into his, Alaina’s words ring through my mind and I say them out loud. “I love you more,” I tell him.  

*** 

Around the end of September, Jackson’s paternity leave runs out and he has to go back to school. The twins are now almost two months old, and I’m going to need someone to help me at home during the day eventually. But for the first few days while he’s at work, I enjoy the quiet time at home alone with them.

We’re sitting downstairs on the couch with the news on as he packs his lunch. “I wish I didn’t have to go,” he says, taking a water bottle from the fridge.

“I know,” I say. “We’ll miss you, daddy.”

He gives me a sad little smile as he walks over. Bending down, he gives me a kiss on the lips and each of the twins a kiss atop their little heads. “Be good for Mommy today, okay?” he says. “If I hear otherwise, we’ll have to have words tonight. Wes, you’re in charge.”

I roll my eyes and grin. “Nice to see you have faith in me.”

He returns my smile and gives me another kiss. “I love you,” he says. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”  

“Okay,” I say. “I love you more.” 

He throws a knowing glance over his shoulder as he walks towards the front door, and I’m left in a peaceful solace once it closes behind him.

I eat breakfast while the twins take a short nap, then take them out in the stroller when they wake up. Lennox makes a variety of noises as we walk around our neighborhood, and Wesley, in true Wesley style, falls asleep.

“Your brother’s such a lazybones,” I tell Lennox, leaning over to look into her face. “But you’re just taking in the world, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” I look up at the crystal-clear blue sky, and the contrast of the green trees against it almost makes my eyes water. It really is a beautiful day, I love this time of year in the city.  

“This is your city,” I tell her. “You’re gonna grow up here, and you’re gonna love it. All Chicago babies love their city. I know Alaina did.”

Her name catches in my throat, but just barely. I’ve never said it out loud to the babies before; I think part of me has been afraid to. But I find myself feeling freer, lighter after doing it.

I turn the corner of the block to head back to our house. “Alaina was your sister,” I continue, and Lennox looks at me as I start talking again. “She would be six now. Six and a half, really. She always liked to be exact.” I smile a little bit, just to myself. “She would’ve loved you, both of you. She loved babies. She loved a lot of things.” We walk under the shade of trees lining the houses adjacent to our own. “But she died. She’s not here anymore, and she’ll never be here again. It’s hard, but it’s true. You’re never going to know her, and that kills me. That really kills me.” I park the stroller and get the front door open, somehow getting both babies inside at once while Wesley stays asleep. “But I’ll always tell you about her. Anything you want to know, when you get older and have questions. I’ll have answers. I promise. I promise I’ll always talk about her.”  

I nurse the twins for a while after Wesley wakes up fussy, sitting on the couch and looking up at the mantel. Alaina’s kindergarten photo sits proudly in the middle, encompassed in a silver frame. She’s looking out at the room - beaming, more like - with her hair braided back from her face and her freckles on full display.  

My heart hurts. I want to see her, touch her, talk to her. I want to remember what it felt like first thing in the morning, when she’d be slow and sleepy cuddled against my chest. I want to remember the way her laugh sounded from the back seat of the car after I said something not-that-funny.

After the babies are done eating, I make a decision and tell myself to follow through. Slowly, I stand up from the couch and even slower, make my way to the stairs with both of them in my arms. I go upstairs and walk down the hall to the room that hasn’t been touched in a very long time, and turn the knob.

As I look at everything that once was hers, I’m overcome with my first daughter’s presence. In this room, I can feel her so clearly that I can almost see her. I can almost see her dancing in the corner under her twinkly lights, can almost see her standing in a towel while she picks out pajamas, can almost see her hopping into bed with a book in her hands.

I can hold onto those memories as tightly as I want, but nothing will bring her back. I know that now. It took a long time to accept it, but I’m getting closer every day.

The babies are drowsy in my arms, blinking heavily at the one room in the house they have never seen. 

“This was your sister’s room,” I tell them, looking around. It’s so untouched, it’s almost like she’s away at school, coming back later today ready to tell me about how silly Jackson was. “She had a name. Alaina. And she had a story. It was a great one.”

I look down at the two of them, yawning complacently. They just like hearing my voice, no matter what I’m saying. But I tell myself that Alaina is the one who’s really hearing me.

“Laina,” I say, directing my eyes upwards. “Hey, you. This is your brother, Wesley, and your sister, Lennox. Jackson and I made two babies. Can you believe that? Two.” I laugh and can hear how melancholy it sounds. “I hope you can hear me,” I continue. “I’ve got so much to tell you. I feel like I had so many stories to tell you, but now I can’t even remember them. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.” I sigh and sit down on her bed, feeling an inexplicable wave of peace wash over me. I’ve never felt like this in regards to her passing, not one single time. But being in here, this feels different. It makes me feel whole.  

“Hey, you wanna know something funny?” I say. “I found that old t-shirt, the one we thought you lost. I found it a while ago.” I pause. “It’s still the softest.”

I situate the twins in my arms and bite the inside of my lip. “Everything’s okay,” I say. “It’s hard, but it’s okay. I know you had to go away. I think about you every day, I hope you know. Not a moment goes by where I don’t miss you.” I sniffle and take in a deep breath, comforted that I’m not in here by myself. The twins are here with me, and I know she sees them. It’s almost like she’s standing right in front of me, watching. Reaching out to touch my face, tipping her head to one side, flashing that magic grin.  

“They’re gonna make us proud, baby girl,” I say. “They’re gonna grow up to be great. I just know it. Can you feel it?” I smile to myself, glancing down at the babies’ round heads. They’re both still content in being so close to me, and I love them where they are. While sitting here on Alaina’s bed, I’m enveloped with the acceptance of her death while breaking through to accept new life.

I stand up a few moments later, taking one last look around. I don’t know when I’ll be in here next, but it probably won’t be for a long time, and probably for a much different reason. She’s not here anymore. This is just a room; a room in a house that once held a child that was very, very loved.

Standing in the doorway, I take one last look over my shoulder and part my lips slightly. “Before I go,” I say. “You should know… I love you more.”


	20. Epilogue

** APRIL  **

Putting the twins to bed can be exhausting. By the time they’re tucked up under the covers, claiming they’re ‘not tired,’ I’m always the one who wants to fall asleep. Even when I’m exhausted after an inexplicably long day at the hospital, they’ll put up a huge fight if Jackson alone tries to lay them down. They always want me there, too. 

So after I’ve given a million kisses, a million hugs, and read at least five stories, my eyelids are heavy when my head hits my own pillow. Jackson is in the bathroom brushing his teeth and humming under his breath, seemingly not tired at all.  

I let my mind wander to the weekend we just had. It’s mid-spring, so we were out all day today planting flowers in the garden. And yesterday, we went downtown and walked along Michigan Avenue to window shop. We were on the go almost all weekend, and right now I can’t wait to fall asleep.

I barely register Jackson climbing into bed next to me and flicking the light off. I’m falling deeper and deeper into unconsciousness as he moves around, and I feel the covers shift as he pulls them down off of my body. Confused, I try and pull them back up only to discover that they’re all the way down by my knees, and he’s shifting his body to rest around that same area.

I ignore him, though, and drift back off. But it’s only to be woken a few minutes later by a pair of soft lips pressing against my inner thighs, just below the hem of my pajama shorts.

“Mm,” I say, unable to form words because I’m still pulling myself away from sleep. 

He pulls my shorts and down my limp legs and slowly kisses across the waistband of my underwear, holding the outsides of my legs in his strong hands. I feel my lips pull up in a ghost of a smile as he spreads my thighs, and I comply with his motions without hesitation as he runs his tongue between my legs, over my underwear.

“Jackson...” I murmur, widening my knees.

“Hmm,” he replies, still moving his lips over the fabric.

“Don’t stop,” I say, my eyes still closed.

“Don’t plan on it,” he says, moving to press slow kisses to my inner thighs. 

He pulls my underwear down slowly and I open my eyes as he parts my folds with two fingers, closing his mouth over me once again as I turn my head to one side and sigh.

“I know you like that,” he mutters, breath falling against me as he licks my sensitive skin.  

I smile and chuckle to myself as he continues to work his magic, eyebrows rocketing to the ceiling when he slides two fingers inside me to pump them in and out while his mouth is still moving.

“God,” I breathe, when he flattens his tongue out and bends his fingers. “Oh, my god. Please… Jackson, oh, god…”  

My pelvis rocks against his face and I feel him smile against me before sucking my nerves between his lips. “You taste so good,” he says, holding a thigh with the fingers that aren’t inside me. “Jesus, April, you are so fuckin’ sexy.” 

My eyelashes flutter as his words push me over the edge, and my mouth drops open in a ragged moan. He keeps going like he always does, massaging my leg with one hand while his mouth continues to work me, until I’m panting and trembling on my back.

I throw one arm to rest across my forehead and he nips across my thighs, making his way to my stomach after pushing my shirt up. “I’ve been waiting all weekend for that,” he says, and I sit up so he can pull my shirt off all the way.

“You woke me up,” I mutter, smirking at him.

“Yeah,” he says, kissing one side of my ribcage before moving up to suck my nipple into his mouth. “Was it worth it?” 

I let out a breathy giggle as his hand slides down to rest between my legs again as his mouth stays on my breast, and he dips his fingers inside me. I whimper slightly as his teeth come together on my nipple, as it makes a shock of bright electricity shoot between my legs and a smile appear on my face.

He moves away from my breast and rests his head on my stomach, drawing nonsensical shapes on my upper thigh as goosebumps appear on my skin. I run my fingers through his hair, his curls that he’s let grow, before he bends his neck and connects his mouth with my core again.

He gives me a second orgasm, dragging it out much longer than the one before. After he’s finished, he moves up to kiss me on the lips, and I can barely kiss him back I’m so weak from what he’s done to me.

“Was it really that good?” he asks, all cocky.

“That good,” I say, eyes half-lidded.

With his lips on my neck, he nudges my chin with his nose. “Wanna get in the bath with me,” he murmurs.

“You woke me up…” I say, my voice lilting as I smile. 

“Is that a yes?” he asks.  

“Go run the water,” I tell him, and hear the tub filling up just moments later.

After the faucet stops and the smell of sweet soap is coming from the bathroom, I hear his footsteps approach me and stop at the side of the bed. “Come on,” he says, then lifts me up before I have a chance to walk there myself.

I open my eyes onto his face and run one finger over his beard. “You better strip down,” I say, already naked. It makes it easy for me to just slip into the tub, so that’s what I do. I lower myself so my chin is touching the bubbles that he added and my hair is fanned out, floating across my shoulders.  

He gets in the water and we adjust so I’m sitting forward on his lap, his arms wrapped around to take two generous handful of my ass. I make a small noise into his mouth as we kiss, and can easily feel him hardening against my inner thighs. I dip one of my hands under the water and wrap my fingers around his penis, which makes him suck in air through his teeth, and I torture him by rubbing the head just across my entrance while keeping steady eye contact.

“April…” he moans, fingers tightening on my hips.

“Hmm?” I say, raising my eyebrows. 

He chuckles and looks up at the ceiling, dragging his top teeth over his bottom lip. “Quit teasing me,” he says, kissing my sternum. His mouth moves lower, taking one of my nipples to suck on it greedily, suds from my skin transferring onto his face because of it.  

While his mouth is attached to my breast, I sink down onto him. He sucks on my breast harder, closing his eyes and digging his nails into the small of my back, and I lean forward so our stomachs are pressed flush together. I keep my hips still for a moment, lightly dragging my fingertips over the back of his neck, then pulling his face up from my chest so I can kiss him on the mouth.

And I kiss him hungrily, wrapping my arms around his shoulders while letting him adjust the way I’m sitting. With his bottom lip between my teeth, I push my hips forward and he fills me completely, to the point where my eyes roll back in my head and my eyelashes flutter from the sensation. He opens his mouth on my neck, gliding his teeth over the wet, sensitive skin, and tightens his arms around my waist as I continue to move on top of him. 

“Wanna know something,” I breathe, pulling my lips away to press my forehead against his.

He takes in a deep breath, thumbs on my hipbones. “What?”

A little smile pulls my lips up. “Wanna know what I’m thinking about?” 

I hear him laugh - just a little bit of air comes from his nose. “Spit it out,” he says.

“When we were in this bath for the first time,” I say. “And you told me you loved me.”

He grins, looking a little bashful.

“You didn’t think I was gonna say it back,” I continue. 

“Nah, I knew,” he insists.

“Liar,” I say, and he slides his hands down to grope my ass.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says. “You were all freaked out about being married, I…” He loses his words for a second while I widen my knees on either side of his hips and somehow take him deeper. “Christ. God… but I couldn’t keep it in anymore.” 

I kiss his chin, then his mouth - running my tongue over the seam of his lips. “We made it,” I say. “Look at how far we’ve come since then.”

He smiles, slipping his hand between my legs to lazily play with the nerves that’ll send me over the edge. I had planned on talking about that fateful night some more, but now my mind is blank save for everything he’s making me feel.

I come first, and he doesn’t take long after. After we’re both spent, I stay on top of him with my cheek rested on his shoulder, drawing nonsensical shapes on his chest with my pointer finger.

“I love you just as much right now as I did then,” I say. 

I feel his voice in his chest more than I hear it. “More,” he says.

I smile softly and agree. “More.” 

*** 

The next morning, I wake up and the first thing I do is cry. 

I look at the cream colored walls and pinch my eyes shut tight, feeling Jackson’s arm heavy over my hip as he spoons me from behind. I try to keep my sobs at bay, but I still wake him up.

“Hey…” he says, voice still groggy. His grip tightens as he pulls me closer, moving my hair to press his lips to the back of my neck. “What is it, babe?”

I roll over onto my back and glance at him, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I let out a little sigh and blink up at the ceiling, a sad smile sneaking onto my face. From our bedroom, I can hear the twins talking to each other a few doors down - the high, musical lilt of Lennox’s voice, and the quick, happy tone of Wesley’s - as they play in their shared room.

“Can you hear them?” I ask, still drying my tears. 

Jackson’s eyes roam to the side, concentrating on the sound. “Yeah,” he says. 

I sniffle. “It’s today,” I say. “Today, they’re five years, eight months and one day old.” I pause for a long moment. “They’re one day older than her.” His arm slinks under my shoulders and he pulls me close, kissing my temple. “They made it one day more than she did.”

Jackson knew about my fear that something would take them from me before they could age older than their sister, so we don’t need to exchange many words. He just wraps his other arm around me, joining the other one, and hugs me close. His body is warm and smells like sleep, and I find comfort with my face pressed against his chest. We’ve been married for almost six years now, and each day I’m grateful that he chose me.

I barely have the time to register the sound of dual footsteps before two little bodies jump on our bed. “Mommy, Daddy!” the two of them chorus, then jump on us.

“Hug mommy, hug mommy!” Lennox cheers, having seen Jackson’s arms tight around me. She copies her father and hugs me tight, and I kiss her face as I blink and try to make it look like I hadn’t just been crying.

Wesley looks over from where he sits on Jackson’s stomach. “Are you okay, mommy?” he asks. “Are you crying?”

I run my hand over Lennox’s hair as she snuggles against me, trying to get as close as she can while not really paying attention where her lanky arms and legs fly. “I’m okay,” I say, corners of my lips pulling up in a forced smile.

“But you were crying,” Wes insists.

Lennox turns around so we’re almost nose-to-nose. “Were you crying, mommy?” she asks, her little eyebrows angled up.

I take in a deep breath. “I was crying,” I admit. “But I’m okay. I was crying because I’m happy, not sad.”

“Happy crying?” Wesley asks, tipping his head to one side.

“Yes,” I say, smiling. “It’s possible.”

“You can’t cry because you’re  _happy_ ,” Lennox says, running the ends of my hair through her hands absentmindedly like she always does. “Crying is for being sad. Don’t cry, mommy." 

“Okay,” I say, raising my eyebrows and sniffling in one last time.

“What made you cry, mommy?” Wesley asks, still on the subject.

“She wants to stop!” Lennox insists.

“Lex,” Jackson warns. “Let him talk.”

“Why did you cry?” Wes asks again.

I sigh and reach over to pat my son’s knee. “I was thinking about your big sister,” I say, voice unwavering.

Wesley lays down with his head on Jackson’s chest and keeps his eyes on me. “Alaina?” he says softly.  

“Alaina?” Lennox echoes.  

“Yes,” I tell them both.

“You were happy crying ‘cause of her?” Lennox asks.

“But you’re sad ‘cause she died,” Wesley says, his eyes wide and soulful.

“What were you happy about?” Lennox asks.

I take a second to formulate the answer in my head with the words I want to use. I look off into the distance and rest my hand on Lennox’s belly as I sigh and think, then finally say, “She’ll always make me happy, even if she’s not here.”

They seem satisfied with that answer, then I hear Jackson stir and pat Wes on the back. “We gotta get ready for school,” he says. 

“No, daddy…” Wes whines.

“I don’t wanna go to school,” Lennox echoes.

“Come on, bugs!” he says, getting up. “We gotta! And Mommy’s gotta go be a superhero, we can’t keep her from doing that, can we?”

“Are you gonna fix sick people today?” Lennox asks, looking up at me.  

“Probably,” I say. “I hope so.”

I tell the twins to go find clothes to wear and wait downstairs for Jackson, who will make them breakfast. Lennox knows to wait on her bed so I can do her hair; usually I would’ve allotted a good chunk of time for it the night before, but we’d been busy.

I get in the shower first and only take a few minutes, and Jackson hops in right after me. Before he goes, though, he gives me a chaste kiss on the mouth and runs his hand over my slicked-back hair.  

“What?” I ask, glowing from the way he’s looking at me.

“Nothing,” he says, opening the glass door to the shower. “Just love you.”

My lips turn down in a smile as I roll my eyes playfully, shoving him into the shower by his back. When he comes out just a few minutes later, I’m standing in a camisole and underwear in front of the mirror, drying my hair. He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, kissing the slope between my shoulder and neck as he messes with the waistband of my purple underwear. 

“Stop…” I say, turning the blow dryer onto his face. He giggles, scrunches up his nose, and pulls away.  

“You’re no fun,” he says.

“You have two hungry twins,” I say, meeting his eyes through the mirror.

“ _You_  have two hungry twins,” he says, opening a cupboard drawer under his sink.

I turn the blow dryer off and smack his ass as he walks towards the closet. “You had something to do with their creation,” I say, and he laughs.

We get ready pretty quickly, and Jackson goes downstairs to cook breakfast while I head into the twins’ room. “You ready, Lex?” I call out, tousling my curls.

I push open the half-closed door to their room and find Lennox on her bed, cross-legged, playing with her Shopkins. “Mama, can we just do spray today and leave it down? I like my hair down like yours.”

“Sure, baby. Come here, come sit on the-” I cut myself off when she turns and I see the shirt that she’s found to wear. It’s navy blue, worn-in, with the words ‘strong like mom’ printed on the front.

“What, mama?” she says.

I set the bottle of product down and blink away tears. “Where did you find that shirt?” I ask.

“I wanted to wear it, it matches my skirt-”

“I said, where did you find it?” I repeat, my voice involuntarily rising. “Where did you find that shirt, Lennox?”  

“Mommy!” she whines, voice rising. “Stop yelling at me!”

“You can’t wear that shirt to school,” I say, walking over to her with shaking hands. “I’m sorry, Lennox, but that is out of the question. Take it off now, please.”

“No!” she cries, pounding her fists down on her bed. “You’re mean, I can wear whatever I want.”

“You-”

I’m cut off by Jackson appearing in the doorway with Wesley behind him; Jackson looks concerned and Wes looks curious. “Hey, what’s going on?” Jackson asks.

I look at him with wide eyes. “She’s wearing her shirt,” I mutter, shaking my head. I turn away with my thumb and first finger pressed to my temples, the other arm crossed over my chest. “I don’t know where she found it, but she can’t have it.”

I feel Jackson’s eyes on me, but I can’t look at him. I’m staring down at the fluffy white carpet, and I can see my son’s bare feet in the corner of my vision.

“How about you and Wes go downstairs,” he says softly. “The bacon’s gonna burn. I’ll take care of this.”

I lift my head. “I-I’m sorry, she just… she can’t…”

“I know,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”

I bite the inside of my lip and grit my teeth, reaching out my hand for Wesley to take. “Come on, buddy,” I say. “Let’s go back downstairs.” 

I don’t know what Jackson says to Lennox to get her to take Alaina’s shirt off, but when they come downstairs to join us for breakfast, she’s wearing a patterned jumpsuit instead. She’s rubbing her eyes like she always does after she’s been crying, and she won’t look at me.

“Is she alright?” I ask, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jackson while we dish up their eggs.  

“She’s fine,” he says. “I explained it to her. She didn’t like it, but she understands.”

We all eat breakfast together in relative silence, then I get my shoes on to leave for work. Today, I have to get out of the house sooner than Jackson and the kids, but I’ll be back before them.

“Who’s gonna come give their mommy a hug and a kiss?” I call out from the stairs, where I’m slipping on my shoes.  

Footsteps pound down the hallway and my three favorite people appear in front of me, lined up to bid me goodbye. Wes throws his arms around my neck and gives me a sloppy kiss on the cheek, and I squeeze him tight. Lennox goes next, giving me less of an enthusiastic hug as she normally would, but she doesn’t pull away when I kiss her forehead.  

“Don’t forget me,” Jackson says, and I stand up on the stairs so I’m a head taller than him. He grabs ahold of my waist and lifts me back onto the floor, where he kisses me quickly. “Have a good day today.”

“You, too,” I say, then kneel down to hug the twins one more time. “You guys be good, too. I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

I get a round of ‘love you, toos’ back, then the three of them head out the front door. I slip my spring jacket on over my shoulders and call an Uber to head into the hospital, thinking about what this day will hold. I don’t like the terms that I left Lennox with, I wanted to be better this morning but I just wasn’t. Sometimes I break and can’t pull myself together to put someone else’s needs before my own, even my own child’s. I chastise myself for it, hoping that she won’t hold onto it for the rest of the day. I had yelled at her, like really yelled at her, over a shirt. Was it worth it? Should I have just let her wear it?

I don’t know.

As I ride in the back seat of an unfamiliar car, I close my eyes as we cruise down Lakeshore. The scenery of the city on one side and the lake on the other used to be my favorite, but now I can’t stand either of them. The sour taste of the memory of this road will never leave me, I know that for sure.

With my eyes closed, I start to think about the twins. They aren’t in Jackson’s class, the school wouldn’t allow it, but they do have him for gym. The school had to lay off the gym teacher, so Jackson took it upon himself as something a little extra to do, and he loves seeing his kids during the day. And they always come home with crazy stories about him.

I wish I got to see them in the way he does, but my days aren’t quite as fun. I was offered the head of trauma position a few years ago when the twins were toddlers, but I turned it down. It’s too much for me to handle, and being an attending is enough. Most of the time, my days pass by pretty quickly. Unless I have a child in my OR, then the day drags on for years.

Today, though, luckily I just treat adults. And I get to go home just in time to meet Jackson and the kids as they pull up. He parks the car and waves at me as he opens the back door, and the two of them tumble out with wild smiles on their faces.

“Mommy!”

“Mama!”

The both barrel towards me and I kneel down in time for their bodies to collide with mine in a big group hug. I wrap my arms around either of them and kiss their cheeks, smiling with my children in my arms, just where I like them.

I watch Jackson walk up with his shoulder bag on and also two tiny backpacks thrown over his shoulders, which make him look comically giant. “I see how it is,” he grumbles, playfully nudging each of them with his toe while they stay in my arms. “I’m so unloved. You love Mommy so much better than me.”

“We already saw you all day at school, daddy,” Lennox insists. 

“Mommy’s special,” Wes says, holding tighter to my shoulders 

“Yeah, Mommy’s special,” Lennox echoes, pressing her cheek right against mine.

I beam up at Jackson, tipping my head to the side cockily. “Yeah,” I say. “Mommy’s special.”

We go inside and put together an after-school snack, and while I watch the twins eat their graham crackers and Nutella, I can’t stop thinking about what this day means. I woke up thinking about Alaina, and she hasn’t left my mind since. She would be ten now, almost eleven. What would she be like? It kills me that I can’t conjure up a pre-teen image of her. She will be a kindergartener forever.

Parents always say,  _I wish they could just stay this little_  when their children are small. But the truth is, that’s the last thing that you want. You want to see your kids grow, change, and thrive. You want to know them at each stage of their lives and watch how they shift from one to the other. I have a child who is permanently small, and it’s the worst feeling in the world. With every day that passes, it feels like I’m coming closer to losing something that I never really had.

I know that’s not true. But on the difficult days, it’s hard to get past.

The twins work on their homework - reading digital and analog clocks - while Jackson and I cook dinner a little while later. I’m dicing tomatoes to go on top of our homemade pizza, and he’s spreading out the dough. “Do you think that…” I begin, and he looks over to me. “We could go see her today?”

He knows that it takes a lot for me to say that. I didn’t want to go to the cemetery on Christmas, on her birthday, or any holiday preceding this. It must come as a shock to him that I want to go now, but my mind is made up. Today, I want to see her. 

“The cemetery?” he asks. I nod. “Take the kids?”

“Yeah,” I say.

The two of them have never been to visit their sister. When we drive past the cemetery, I once mentioned that she was laid to rest in there. That was the most they’ve ever gotten out of me about Alaina, posthumous. I’m happy to talk about her in life, but her death is something I’ll never be able to discuss comfortably. I don’t think that it should ever be.

“Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”

Relief washes over me and I smile. I was worried that he wouldn’t think it was the best idea, or that he wouldn’t want the twins to go. “You’d do that for me?” I ask. 

“Of course I’ll do that for you,” he says, leaving the dough for a moment so he can walk over and kiss my forehead. “We’ll do it for you and us.”

“Okay,” I say softly, and keep chopping.

We sit down for dinner together and as the twins are happily eating their pizza, I broach the subject. “After dinner,” I say. “We’re gonna go someplace very special to me.”

“Church?” Wes asks.

“We only go there on Sundays,” Lennox cuts in. “It’s Monday.”

“Not church,” I say gently. “We’re going to go see your sister at the cemetery, where she’s buried.”

They’re quiet for a moment. I can tell they’re not sure how to respond.

“We’ve never been there before,” Lennox says.  

“You showed it to us one time when we were in the car,” Wes says.

“I know,” I say. “I just really miss her today, so it would make me feel good to go and see her. Would that be okay with you guys, to go see her?”

They agree easily. Going there isn’t a big deal to them - for the duration of their lives, that’s where Alaina has been. Untouchable, practically unreal. To them, she’s merely a concept. To them, she’s a faraway idea; an invisible puzzle piece that makes Mommy cry.

But either way, we all get our shoes on after dinner and get in the car. I glance at the two of them in the rearview mirror while Jackson drives, smiling at Lennox leaning her head on the back of her car seat to watch the world pass by and Wes with his knees to his chest, drumming his fingers on them. They’re big now - not babies, not toddlers, but children. I’ve kept them safe for five years, eight months, and one day. I’ve accomplished the feat I thought I never could.

I still check that they’re breathing sometimes at night, just like I had with her. Because I learned that, to counter what I’d been told when I had only one to check on, children are not always breathing.

We get to the cemetery before the sun starts to set. It’s big and the twins are tired, so I carry Lennox on my hip and Jackson takes Wes as we make our way towards Alaina’s plot. We don’t come here often, but the path will always be ingrained in my mind. 

Losing your child in the grocery store is a scary feeling. Losing them on a crowded sidewalk is even scarier. But losing them forever is worse than scary - it’s debilitating. This is the last place she’ll ever be, resting in one spot, and I don’t plan on ever losing my way to where she lies.

We’re not the only ones here. There are old couples walking slowly to their loved ones, teenagers knelt with flowers, and single people finding their way to loved ones. When we get close to Alaina’s headstone, we’re not alone either. There’s a middle-aged woman accompanied by someone who looks like her brother, walking by Alaina’s headstone and reading the inscription as she goes.

We hang back and wait for them to leave, and it’s impossible not to hear their conversation.  

“Oh, my god” the woman says. “She was five. And the day after Christmas, too. How do you even begin to heal?”

Her words sit heavy on my shoulders, but their presence isn’t as real and concrete as the weight of my daugher on my hip. I look at Lennox’s face and feel her hand on the back of my head, running down my hair like it always does, and feel hope blossom in my chest. I am lucky. I have her. I look over to Jackson and our little boy on his hip, and feel the same warmth spread out. I have them.

I clear my throat. I know I should just let the woman walk on, go about her day, but I need to say something - if only for myself. “I think we’re doing okay,” I say.

The woman gasps and turns with her hand pressed to her heart. “Oh, my god. I am so sorry,” she says, clearly not only startled from our presence, but embarrassed that she’d been caught talking about that little girl in front of her family.

“It’s okay,” I say, and mean it. I blink a few times and adjust Lennox on my hip. “Do you want to hear about her?” 

When Lennox and Wesley were little, I promised them I’d always talk about their sister. And I plan on keeping that promise, to anyone who asks. She’s not here on this earth anymore, but the memories I have of her will keep her here, if only in remembrance.

Alaina is dead.

After the twins were born, that fact was hard to wrap my head around, and some part of me never thought I’d be able to do it.

And though life felt like ashes when they were newborns, we’ve grown from that. We’ve risen from the ashes and transformed into something beautiful.


End file.
